


Heart of Broken Glass

by Kat2107, pkabyssinian



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Additional Chapter tags, Anakin NO, Blood, Daddy Issues, Facial Shaving, Filing in Triplicate, Force Ghost shennanigans, Hux is BAMF, Insanity, Knifeplay, Kylo NO, Kylo Ren has problems, M/M, Misuse of the Force, Nightmares, No accidental necrophilia, Phasma is total bro, Potential dub-con if you squint, References to Child Abuse, Second Chances, Sniper!Hux, Torture, and, as in please give us one, competent abuse of paperwork, erotic patricide, killing someone who is already dead, mama hux, not everything is terrible, problematic dream sex, references to brain washing, slighly underage Ben, the order of, we aren't completely heartless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 88,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5780779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat2107/pseuds/Kat2107, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pkabyssinian/pseuds/pkabyssinian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux wakes with his body trapped, entangled in sweat soaked sheets, screams of pain and terror still reverberating in his mind.  </p><p>He turns and as he sits, for one second, he thinks he sees a faint blue figure cross past his man high dressing mirror.  </p><p>A blink later it's gone.</p><p>The same dream.  The same sweat drenched nameless horror as every night the past week.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Kylo Ren has gone to finish his training while Hux is left behind to sort out the mess.</i><br/>It is what he is best at, after all.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Then the nightmares start.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Descent

**Author's Note:**

> Take heed of the warnings. We will put chapter specific warnings at the beginning of each chapter and they might vary wildly.  
> We are not kind or nice or pretty to Kylo Ren in this first chapter. But! Before you run away, screaming for the hills - we promise to make it all better. We have a well crafted plan that starts with this downward spiral but eventually we will let some light in. Honest. 
> 
> We want to thank [Eridani](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eridani/pseuds/Eridani) for the excellent beta work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: 
> 
> Descent into madness. Torture. Extreme violence. Murder.
> 
> Aka: Kylo Ren has gone insane.

_ “Is it too late?” _

_ “It’s never too late. You, of all people, should know that.” _

_ “We can still save him, Obi-Wan. I know I can!” _

_ “How?” _

_ “We use the General.” _

\----------

  
  
The room is cold and dark, the only illumination provided by an old lamp, grime-crusted and weak on battery power. 

It is not even needed. The naked man tied to the rack has no need for his eyes. The dark figure standing above him hasn’t either. He feels what he needs to know. 

Kylo Ren has forgotten what the name of his prisoner is. It is irrelevant anyways, any personality he’d had splintered the moment Kylo began his work.

With care and precision (Hux would be so proud of him) Ren peels another strip of skin from the man’s flesh, careful not to cut into the subcutaneous tissue below.  It does not quite elicit the reaction he aimed for, his victim utters only a pathetic broken sob born from a voice that gave out hours ago. That he is still trying to beg pleases Kylo though.

It is rare these days to find his own mind so clear; he hasn’t felt this focused in a long time. Months. 

Kylo Ren could pinpoint the exact moment should he so wish. 

He does not. 

Yet the memory claws upward in his thoughts - blood on his hands, soaking through the leather of his gloves, seeping into the fabric of his robes.  Each time it rises, it takes more to bury. 

Nothing matters but to make the man before him pay, to make him suffer for what he did, before the blood dripping from his lips and nostrils turns dark and his cries fall silent forever. 

It is necessary.

Nothing else about him matters other than he had crossed Hux; had, years back, taken control of a planet that Hux had wanted. Delayed Hux’s plans. Inexcusable.

Kylo takes another strip of skin, digging deeper this time, removing muscle as well. The sob rises into a shriek. 

Kylo Ren smiles.

It is a nice coincidence that this man also harbors knowledge that Kylo wants. There are still members of the New Republic Senate out there, dignitaries that had been trying to force Hux out of power. People who have families, people who are afraid to lose what’s closest to them. As close to them as their still beating hearts. They need to pay.

Even worse, those arrogant Republic snobs think that they can hide the whereabouts of the person Kylo wants the most. They still protect the bitch that gave birth to him. 

It is only a matter of time until they give it up. Depending only on how many of theirs - children, spouses, brothers- he takes and how he leaves them to be found.

It means nothing to him, not his ‘mother’, not theirs.

Blood is only meant to be spilt.

His hands are slick with it.

One more long strip of skin comes away, clinging to the man’s belly fat, pulling it taut until Kylo carefully slices through. This time he tries to make it as long as he can before it breaks. Like he used to do with apples as a child. One, long, twisting strip. It’is difficult work that requires precision and concentration. Never cut the skin itself, only what connects it to the layer below. His lightsaber is not exactly a scalpel, but that is part of the challenge.

The man does nothing but give a low whine that seems never ending. It sounds like music to Kylo, like a lullaby. It makes him strong.

Hux would be so pleased with him.

***

He screams and cries, rocking back and forth, pulled and shoved by the hands in his hair, clutching, tearing, hurting. His own. His only relief. There are no hands anymore. There is no relief. There is only blood.

Cold floor under him. Silence. He is naked.

Blood, savage and hot, as it runs into his eyes. Cool as it splashes onto slick metal. His hate reaches out but can find no purchase, he is trapped here within himself. 

 

***

The low hum of the ship, Hux’s ship, whispers the death sentence for a colony that opposed them.

Kylo Ren will make it burn, he will set it on fire himself, basking in the flames of destruction and the screams and pleas of the traitors.

Above him, on the stone slab he calls his altar, stands the relic, the last bit, watching him with no eyes to see, flaming hair in perfect order, uniform sharp. He prays for one last chance to muss it up.

“Nothing,” Kylo Ren rasps to the unmoving facsimile, letting the pain settle around his shoulders like a well-worn cloak. “Will stand in our way.”

It is dew drops of pain that he can feel in his mouth, ambrosia that numbs all the places in his very core where the knowledge of Hux’s existence had once resided. His heart, still aflame in burning pain at the knowledge that he is gone. His mind, memories long dormant where he once would have recalled a particularly clever quip, a movement, a glance, a brilliant strategic move.

Ashes now. Nothing but hatred left to bring this galaxy to its knees in Hux’s memory.

It is the last thing that Kylo Ren has to give and he will see them burn.

***

Dinner is synth steak with a side of roasted galan. He eats alone.

***

Kylo tortures the man long after he has the information he needs; in fact, he had already pulled the necessary coordinates from the man’s mind at the beginning. Now, Kylo just wants to break him, make the man say it and know he was betraying those lives to Kylo’s twisted mercy. He continues for the sport of it, for the pain it brings. Each cry and whimper, each drop of agony he can wring from the man helps to feed the Dark Side. In his ears he almost hears a soft whisper that almost sounds like Hux.  _ “That is childish, Ren.”  _  But Hux indulges him anyways. 

Long after the man has gone silent and limp, Kylo continues his work.

Death is no escape, he will dismantle this man and tear him to pieces. He was the one who leaked the information on the whereabouts of the Resistance. He was the one that lured Hux to that planet. It had been a refueling stop for them, a safe spot to exchange information. No real strategic importance but it would disrupt the Resistance and removing this base would be a thorn in their side. Back when such things mattered.

Still, this man, he’s the one directly responsible for what happened. 

This man said he’d found the scavenger scum.

Kylo isn’t afraid to turn his gaze inward and shoulder his part of the blame. He had wanted to capture the girl before returning to Snoke. Hux had disagreed but, in the end, Kylo won. They’d gone and found nothing, just a small base. 

No scavenger. 

Nothing but the end of everything. 

Turning this human wreck into so much red pulp doesn’t assuage the pain. Doesn’t ease the tightness in Kylo’s throat. It intensifies him. Makes him more the man he always should have been.

Without any visible emotion Kylo washes the blood from his hands. He likes watching the patterns that bloom pinkly in the water. Swirls his fingers in the water that isn’t, quite, the same temperature as the blood. Cannot help thinking that he still doesn’t know why Hux did it.

Hux. 

The man had been a joke. Pretentious and contemptuous of everyone and everything. Only remarkable because Snoke had decided he should be. Kylo had hated him, his obvious weakness; been certain he wouldn’t be able to hold his own in a fight.

The memory comes unbidden, visual and visceral and for one glorious moment, it feels real. Hux holding a rapier. The long line of steel gleaming in the salle’s lights as he faces off against eight troopers. The narrow, lithe blade a perfect foil for the man wielding it.

Hux is shining with sweat, his breathing perfectly controlled. His body tightly coiled, every movement precise as his sword flashes and strikes his targets. Kylo can’t help but recognize how each move is perfectly orchestrated, nothing is ever wasted or extraneous. His moves should look choppy and unfinished, yet they don’t. Hux is moving along precise lines, repeating the same motions over and over. Order. Predictability. It should make him easy to anticipate. Yet here he is, decimating his opponents. It is eerie. Compellingly beautiful.

Kylo’s throat is as dry as bone. He pounds his fist against the side of his head trying to just stop it, but his mind’s eye won’t release the image of Hux shirtless and victorious. 

Kylo savagely tells himself it was just a practice bout, not a real fight at all.

It does not mean anything that he was so unsettled after watching the practice. Does not mean anything that the vision of the bare expanse of Hux’s pale chest won’t leave him, even now.

His head aches, his temples feel like rotten fruit. Kylo smashes his head sideways, feels blood slip down into his eyes as a sharp pain bites into his arm. 

Numbness spreads.

***

_ “He’s almost completely gone.” _

_ “It will come in waves. There is still something worth saving in him.” _

_ “Are you sure?” _

Kylo Ren's hysterical laughter echoes through the bare chamber, thrown back by every surface until it wraps around the lonely figure in the middle and chokes him into desperately heaving sobs _.  _

***

_ Focus, Ren _ ! he admonishes himself. Time is fast fading; he must reach the abandoned rebel base on Dantooine to keep the appointment with a Mandolorian informant. Their information has always been good, good enough that they’ll probably live through this meeting with Kylo. If the data is substantial enough.

“Does our deal still stand?” the Mandalorian asks, the helmet mangling the voice until Kylo can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman.

Kylo flicks the credit chip at the bounty hunter. He sees no reason not to pay this time.

If Kylo stopped to think about it, he might see the irony in the two of them facing off. He and the Mandalorian in their masks and cold armor. Posturing at each other, two warriors working at cross purposes. But Kylo does not care. He just wants to find the right person. The one that will break and divulge the hiding place of Leia Organa and her new pets. It seems like he has always known what needs to be done. Only now, he has the will to do it.

Funny, how once you are stripped of everything you can do anything.

***

It must have started when Hux countermanded one of his orders to the Knights of Ren.  It is as close to the beginning of when their heated aggression changed into something more.  Something fluid and formless but just as violent.  Kylo had been angry enough to Force slam him into the nearest wall.

The General’s green eyes had widened in shock, but contrary to every other creature that had faced Kylo's fury, Hux had controlled his fear well enough to not let Kylo feel it.

He had been close to beautiful, struggling to breathe through the Force choke hold, eyes shot wide, wet lips parted, pale skin reddening as his body fought futilely. Hux had suddenly become interesting.

It had been even more interesting to Kylo to replace the Force with his hand. To try and suck the air out of the General’s lungs with his mouth. 

Close to a disappointment, that first kiss. Hux had been passive, his mouth soft, almost unwilling. Not a fighter after all. And then Kylo had remembered watching him that day in the salle, learning his opponents to annihilate them with precision.

At that moment, he had been the one being studied and the understanding had sparked lightning in his chest, feeding the anger and primal hunger in equal measures.

Hux had surged forward, as soon as Kylo had released his neck, his mouth hard and unyielding and Kylo had learned that Hux kissed with the same precision he fought with. 

Everything after is a bit hazy, Kylo is still unsure of how he ended up buried bone deep in Hux, his teeth digging a perfect indentation in a pale shoulder. He had come with a sharp cry, still angry enough to leave Hux unspent and wanting. 

“I wasn’t wrong to use your Knights. Their presence is what gave us the edge we needed,” Hux had said afterwards, his mouth pulled in a sardonic smirk as he sipped at his brandy. Kylo, fearing that Hux might be right, had only glared in silence.

***

The night sky is full of lights, X-Wings and TIE Fighters dueling in the atmosphere. They are a distraction that Kylo is unwilling to deal with, so he raises his arms, letting the Force flow through him. It’s easy, so easy. His fingers claw at the heavens and ships plummet to the earth, drawn by a power they can’t escape, let alone fathom. The ground shakes and buckles as countless starfighters are smashed to ruin against rock and dirt.

The screams of the dying follow Kylo as he walks calmly across the battlefield, smiling coldly when he finally finds the black X-Wing of the Resistance pilot that escaped. If anyone would know where his cowardly mother is, he will. With half a thought he shears open the cockpit and stares disbelievingly. Empty.

He screams his anger to the night, the Force leaking from him and crumpling the fighter like paper. His mind feels close to bursting and he returns the way he came, indiscriminately ending the lives around him. The only light left is his lightsaber, washing everything in a red haze as the cries, one after another, stop.

***

He leans against the cool marble of his altar. In his hand is a glass of Hux’s favorite brandy. Kylo makes a toast to no one. The alcohol burns his already raw throat; the sound he makes is not a sob. 

“Hux. Why?”

Echoes are his only answer.

The marble feels like glass, his body feels exposed like he is one raw nerve. The red haze never leaves his vision now.

***

He waits like a silent specter in the corner of the interrogation chamber. The woman strapped to the chair looks like the scavenger, same dark hair and pale skin and defiant attitude. Well. The attitude is gone. Ruined. Much like the scavenger must be with the vile poison of General Organa slowly eating her alive.

He waits for her eyes to open before drawing up to his full height. Malevolence pools around him and she gives a hiccoughing sob.

Once more he takes the heated metal bar from the interrogation droid, the tip is a dull cherry red. Kylo places it with great care against her skin, the sound the metal makes as it kisses her flesh lost as she wails loud enough to wake the dead. 

Kylo doesn’t bother to ask any questions, he just makes an intricate cross hatching of burns across her breast and belly. She has no information he needs. Her only crime is in looking too much like someone Kylo hates. 

Ren smiles beneath his mask. He hates everyone.

***

He is so cold. Freezing. It reminds him of the surface of Starkiller Base, of the snow and the ice. He cannot move his arms and he is screaming again. His voice is cracking. The pinprick at his elbow is back and everything falls into the void.

***

Kylo knows Hux is always good for a quick fuck. They are as vicious as rabid dogs when  together, always fighting. It is exhilarating. One of the few things that makes him feel truly alive. They skulk through the Finalizer, lobbing petty insults at each other that only fuel their respective rages when they are alone. 

The way they fight and bite at each other, tearing and clawing; it is the best way. The only way. They’d never survive working together otherwise. 

***

In the depths of his bitter darkness Kylo’s inner self curls around the atrocities he commits. They are his only warmth now. Looking at him, no one would ever guess that there is anything of humanity left in Kylo Ren. He has reached the pinnacle of his training. There is nothing left to him but bloodshed and pain. 

***

Kylo stands on the bridge of the Finalizer. He never gives orders, that’s not his place. He offers targets to the crew. They scramble to destroy whatever has earned Kylo’s regard, their fear is cloying and annoying.

Hux. Hux was better at this. At dealing with the crew. Blood drips from Kylo’s gloves onto the spotless flooring of the bridge. Perhaps their fear is understandable with the body of the lieutenant who had questioned Kylo’s orders still twitching nearby. The man’s mind hasn’t yet realized that he’s dead, it was that incompetence that forced Kylo to kill him.

***

There are times when Kylo’s subconscious ambushes him. Reminds him of quieter times when he and Hux would share a glass of brandy and talk of the inconsequential. Of times when Kylo would thrust his fingers into the regulation short hair and muss the russet strands. Of nights when there would be a warm body curled behind him as Kylo let himself, finally, sleep.

***

Kylo Ren has been summoned and he ignores it. There is nothing that he cares to report, no orders that he wishes to follow. Kylo has passed his own final test into power where Snoke has no dominion. Odd to think that one day he would surpass his Master. Yet, Kylo still stands here wallowing in the death he brings. He hasn’t been stopped. He hasn’t been forcibly pulled to his Master’s side to kneel and grovel. 

After Snoke revealed the truth to him, Kylo has been his own man.

***

The cold of the marble altar seeps into Kylo’s bones, the cold of the grave clinging to his warm form. He doesn’t bother to drink anymore. It tastes like dust. He thinks about reaching out, of resting his fingers  _ there _ … but no. He has work to do. There is so much he still needs to accomplish.

“Why?” he gasps, the question almost pleading. “I...I don’t understand.”

Inside his red rage there is a pinpoint of perfect blackness. That moment, frozen in his memory. Exquisitely preserved. Waiting for him should Kylo ever start to flag or fail. 

Kylo twisting, using the Force to shove the Resistance fighter away from him. Out of the corner of his helmet’s visor he catches sight of a bright head. Before he can turn back, to see, the damage is done.

Hux. Leaping in front of a blast meant for him.

Time moving so quickly that Kylo couldn’t even begin to grasp at what led to this moment. Just the flash of light, Hux there, then falling. Hux on the ground, a hole the size of Kylo’s fist in his chest. His eyes glazing, blood blooming like a bright flower on his lips.

For the first time Kylo is aware that he can use the Force on a larger scale, can let it ripple outward in a wave of destruction. 

With stiff fingers he claws his helmet off. It limits his sight too much. His vision is blurry. He feels like he’s trembling but his arms are steady as he pulls Hux to him. He can feel the hot blood soaking through his robes, seeping into his gloves, staining his hands.

The corpse’s green eyes stare at him. There is no reproach. No mockery. Just a softness that feels wrong without Hux’s sharp edges to set it off. Rage, for Kylo, has always been a hot thing, something that burns. Now it sweeps through him colder than ice.

In the back of his head, Snoke preens –  _ This is what attachments get you. Nothing but idiotic gestures that end in death. _

Kylo screams wordlessly, his loss a promise of death for the galaxy.

_ Yes! Rage! Feed your strength! _ Snoke’s voice is full of glee and dark promises.

Why would Hux do this? Why would he sacrifice himself? There is nothing about this that makes sense and Kylo’s mind reaches out, tries to create order out of this chaos. He’s never been good at extrapolating that kind of information, that is Hux’s forte. Was his forte. 

_ Can your mother not use the Force? Why did Hux insist to be on the field of battle today, Kylo Ren? They are trying to weaken us. Weaken you! She planted the seed in Hux that lead to his destruction _ , Snoke’s voice curls serpent-like through Kylo’s mind. The thought is insidious. 

It does not leave. 

***

Plans are formed on the cold stone before his altar where the image of Hux stands, strategies set in motion. Kylo Ren will tear down the galaxy, he will crush the people that took Hux from him. Only one goal left now, for the First Order to reign over the galaxy. Hux’s last, his only wish. And if that means he must crack open the Resistance and destroy its precious heart; all the better. 

If it means the destruction of everything, Kylo can live with that. He can sacrifice the galaxy for his cause.

***

When he feels himself wavering, when it feels like all of this is taking too long, Kylo retreats to his new sanctuary. He lets himself into Hux’s quarters to unceremoniously dump his helmet onto Hux’s desk, covered in datapads and requisition orders.

He curls into Hux’s bed, burying his nose in the pillows and sheets chasing the unique scent that was Hux. He pretends that he is waiting. That eventually Hux will storm in, angry at Ren’s assumption. It will start a fight. And they both know how their fights always end.

It is a fantasy, but it calms him some. In here, everything is always in order. Here, he can wait.

***

She is the man’s daughter. Beautiful. If one liked simple beauty.

He hears her father attempt to scream on the other side of the room, or what accounts to screams with a voice so thoroughly destroyed.

“You don’t even have to say it. Just think it. Think about where you last saw General Organa. If you do, maybe all of this can end,” Kylo bargains. He’s feeling magnanimous because he’s close. So close. The Mandalorian had been right, this girl was the key.

Her eyes are screwed tightly shut, she shakes her head. Kylo pretends that he doesn’t know if it’s from fear or defiance.

“Tell him, Ettai, just tell him,” her father pleads. Kylo never ceases to be amazed at how quickly pain can teach wisdom.

She shakes her head again, tears leaking down her cheeks. Kylo cups her head in his hands gently, her skull feels as fragile as a bird’s egg. Her dark eyes are full of terror but still she refuses. Kylo digs ungently into her mind, hooking and tearing information loose. Her tears fall faster and she makes tiny pain noises that are lost under her father’s harsh sobs.

In Ettai’s mind an image forms, starting with dark eyes and dark hair swept fashionably up to crown the head. Kylo’s heart beats faster. Yes. The image becomes clearer, instead of skin pale as his own, the face is darker and younger than Leia Organa’s. Kylo swears harshly, his hands spasming as he gets his answer. The girl met with Korr Sella. Ettai never even saw his mother.

With casual disregard he crushes her skull between his gloved hands. It’s a quicker and kinder death than the girl deserves. 

\----------

_ “Are you sure you can fix that?” Obi-Wan asks and Anakin snorts. _

_ “Trust me, my friend. I got this.” _

_ “It won’t be easy. He’s fading fast.” _

_ “It never is. But there’s still hope. He’s on his way.” _


	2. Rise Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings: 
> 
> Nightmares  
> References to torture  
> References to child abuse  
> Child soldiers  
> Light alcohol abuse  
> Paperwork. So much paperwork.

_Elegant, incorporeal fingers extend towards the tuft of red hair that frames a face stern and frowning even in sleep._

_“What do you think Snoke is doing with Kylo Ren right at this moment?”_

_The frown deepens and a smile creases the faint blue shadow’s face. That’s so much easier than it was with Tarkin… That man had had about as much of the Force in him as a cockroach and had made up the lack with malice. Good job there, Luke, blowing him up._

_Hux, interestingly, has a lot less malice, but a bit of sensitivity to spare. And a lot more cracks in his mind._

 

_***_

 

It takes more willpower than it should to not look at the glowing chronometer on his wall. Another night lost to insomnia… Hux rubs a hand over his tired and gritty eyes. 

He keeps the lights low and avoids his bed, choosing to spend another evening at his desk looking over personnel reports. Since the destruction of Starkiller Base he has holes in his staff to fill. It’s arduous work replacing officers that he knew and trusted. Always a risk that one of the new hires might not be what he expects. 

All of officers on his shortlist have high performance reviews and their psych reports show them to be the right kind of detail oriented that Hux looks for. Now he’ll need to search deeper, see what Reina can dig up in their backgrounds. His secretary has a talent for finding just what Hux needs to help secure people’s loyalties, an almost uncanny knack for it. Depending on what she finds and the results from an interview with Phasma, Hux will make decisions.

 

With a sigh, he gives up his internal battle and checks the time. 03:31. Hours yet until he’s due anywhere. 

Another swipe across his eyes. It’s been weeks since Ren left to complete his training, weeks where peace and order have been returned to the _Finalizer_. Hux had thought that having the man-child gone would mean his routine would normalize. Yet here he is, awake in the dead hours of night, unable to sleep. 

The quiet is nice. He even enjoyed it for the first week or so. The only explanation Hux can think of for the eventual change, is that he must have gotten used to having chaos invade his well-ordered ship, because now he’s acting as if he misses it. 

Isn't that part of the problem though? Accepting the interruption to his schedule. Allowing disorder to creep in. Best to fix the problem now, before it gets any worse.

Men who wish to command must master all aspects of themselves, they are not at the predicated mercy of their hind brains or emotions. Hux knows the truth of this.

He remembers being six years old, staring up at the commanding figure of his father. Remembers hearing those exact words after he had dared seek comfort after several nights of harrowing nightmares.

Hux, now older and wiser by far, knows exactly what had brought them on back then. That boy, that half-formed, unfinished boy never admitted to the weakness of needing comfort again. The punishment had been succinct and no matter how long it took, Hux had taught himself to sleep again. 

He stands, decisive and resolute with his normal efficiency, and begins his nightly routine for bed. With care he removes his boots and polishes them until they gleam in the half light, then places them next to the valet stand. The uniform is shed, appropriate pieces placed into the hamper or hung in the laundry closet. 

Then he chooses the one for the next day and neatly arranges it on the valet rack. As he drapes each piece, he checks it over carefully, making sure they are well pressed and remain wrinkle free. Everything has its place, being prepared sets the tone for the? whole day. 

 

_He hears the crack of the tawse against his back a moment before pain erupts like a thousand needles stinging his skin. A moment's respite, the strap applied slightly lower. The overlapped area of his back burns as if on fire. The droid is methodical, each strike has exactly the same force and weight placed in a neat row down his shoulders and back until the torment becomes almost unbearable._

_Relief. A moment where he can suck in great gasps of air. He refuses to cry out._

_The beating begins again, starting at the small of his back and working its way up to his shoulders. He knows it’s meant to inflict pain, not damage him. Still. All it really does is fuel his anger and desire to escape._

_“It’s not working. We need something stronger.”_

_Everything shifts, morphs. Twisted faces, the meaty thud of knuckles in his ribs. He reaches out and tries to grasp the Force but it pulls away from him. The harder he tries the more elusive it becomes until the pain tips the scales into madness. Hallucinations waver in and out of his vision, his only constant companion is agony._

_His head rocks to the side from the blow. There’s a buzzing noise. Words? Another blow to his face before hands pry open his mouth. Liquid is poured into his throat, it tastes disgusting. He tries to spit it out._

_Another blow to his back. The sharp crack drives the air from his lungs._

 

With a heaving jerk, Hux is upright in his bed. The sheets are pooled around him and even their light weight makes him feel claustrophobic. It felt so real, he runs his hands over his chest feeling for bruises, probes his head for contusions or injuries.

He is still breathing heavily once he ascertains that he is whole. It is only the memory of pain that lances through his muscles. It is the feeling of having been held down, strapped into place that makes him jittery, makes his heart pound. One of the few phobias Hux has been unable to destroy from his psyche. Another mark against him.

A glance at the chronometer shows that he has slept for less than two hours. With his mental state this disturbed, Hux knows he won’t sleep any more this night. He rises and heads to the shower, doing his best to reinstate his usual routine.

As he washes, the warm water helping to ease his tense shoulders as his thoughts wander to all the things that have gone wrong and to the source of the problem. FN-2187. His defection rankles deeply. It shows a flaw in the training program, something went wrong that neither he nor his father had anticipated. It skews the data and without knowing where the deficiency is, it’s nigh impossible to correct.

He could use Ren right now. It’s the perfect time to strike and unleash the hounds of hell at the Resistance, but of course, his hellhound had to be made useless by reporting for “training”.

Hux pauses, his hands full of suds as he washes his hair. When did he start thinking of Ren as his? A dangerous thought pattern, one he needs to monitor and possibly change.

The other available Knights are out stomping out dissent on planets that thought they could use the 'loss' to their advantage and needed to be reminded that this is war and the Republic has lost far more than just a weapon.

Also, Hux cared absolutely nothing for the other Knights.

Before long he is groomed, dressed, and ready to start his day. He forgoes food in favor of something heavily caffeinated. He doesn’t taste the liquid, but the heat in his belly helps to chase away the lingering malaise from the dream.

 

***

 

_The hands are the worst. Hands that turn into vices, into shackles, hold him down, pin him to the cold metal. He can deal with them, he cries, but he can’t. Never could._

_He is blindly suffocating, choking on desperation, deaf searching for anything in the darkness._

_He should see everything, anything. He should be able to discern the minds of those around him. This is what it feels like to be buried alive._

_And it hurts. Not the fists, not the fire breaking through his veins, the electricity, the cold, the fire, the whip._

_This._

_Grief. Pain. Monsters eating him alive, whispering “death, death, death.” Too much blood, too much, too much. He is tied down. The Force has abandoned him. Sentenced him to watch…_

_Too much blood._

_No, please. Please. Not this._

 

Hux’ scream tears through his soundproofed quarters. 

He finds his body trapped by the blanket, entangled in sweat soaked sheets, pain and terror still reverberating in his mind.

Don’t panic, don’t panic, flashes through his mind as his feet kick off the blanket and he crawls and falls off the wide bed.

They don’t see, nobody’s here to see. He’s alone. Isn’t he? 

Out of the corner of his eye a blue shimmer flits past the man-high dressing mirror, a wisp, a mirage. The gun is in Hux’s hand before he finishes the thought.

There is nothing.

The same dream. The same sweat drenched nameless horror as every night the past week.

Hux leans back against the side of his bed and closes his eyes. 

The mocking numbers on his chrono jump to 4:13

He desperately needs a thorough fuck and for once he doesn't care if it's him or Ren being fucked. But Ren isn't here and isn't that part of the damn problem. Which is pathetic in itself. 

He jerks off in the shower, a pale imitation of what he can’t have, but for now it will do.

He dresses, combs his hair in perfect order, slips his feet into perfectly polished boots. 

The man reflected back to him by the dressing mirror is a spot-on facsimile of a First Order officer. Deft fingers correct the collar of his uniform. There is no room for deviations. Not even if he thinks he remembers a blue whisp of…

Reaching a hand Hux slowly rubs his thumb over the mirror’s frame. His mind tells him he saw it. His brain calls him a delusional halfwit in his father’s voice. 

Ren’s mysticism is rubbing off and it’s making him paranoid. 

The morning drags. Intelligence thinks they found something of importance, only to have it refuted 45 minutes later by Central Command. Weapons has a problem with a faulty charge of plasma cartridges and it renders the dorsal canons useless. Not a problem in itself if it is temporary, but they are about to enter a non-periodic meteor field and they need those canons. 

Something in Hux sometimes wants to be angry, wants to smash the paperweight off his desk and into the next wall. Something in him feels the need to scream as acutely as anything, but that something is held in check by everything else he is. 

Unlike Ren, for example. Always Ren. 

 

***

 

Reina brings him protein bars some time around lunch along with a big cup of tea. 

“You haven’t slept well again, General.”

Looking up Hux finds a woman, still beautiful despite her age. Once blue-black hair now peppered with white streaks twisted in braids around a soft face with full lips and big greyish eyes. Not her natural eye color, he knows, but a human facsimile that enables him to keep her as his secretary without people asking questions. 

The last thing he needs is some junior officers wondering why the person Hux trusts the most on this ship, the only person he trusts explicitly, is not human. 

And this particular can of worms is for noone to open. 

Maybe Ren had wondered and speculated at the privileges Hux grants her, private privileges like an opinion. But then, Ren is whimsical enough to just not care either way. 

He never had mentioned anything anyways.

And again Hux finds himself thinking of that idiot beanpole of a man. 

“The demands of command do not wait for the weakness of one man,” Hux says as he regards her with a tightlipped smile and unwraps a nutrition bar only to find her looking at him with a soft expression that betrays her worry. 

“I can’t help but think how glad I am that there is someone out there you let close enough to miss him now,” she huffs in amusement tinged with even more worry. “Even if it’s Kylo Ren.”

“I…” Hux has to close his eyes and breathe slowly around the artificial meiloorun taste of the nutrition bar. “...don’t. And I don’t think this is your position to comment on, Reina.” 

Except, if there is any person in the galaxy he’ll let that slip with, it’s her. Because she knows and knows too much and has seen too much of him already. Kriffin hell, she bathed him, when he had been five years old and rubbed ointment into his bruises after training. It’s thanks to Reina that Hux learned how to win loyalty from people. Between that and the fact that she was the first person to show genuine kindness towards him, Hux has always had a soft spot for this woman.

Now, Reina says nothing, just looks at him with her irritatingly human eyes, that can see far beyond the human spectrum, until he looks down onto his holoscreen, slowly chewing another bite. 

Hux wonders if she can see the empty space in his mind where Kylo’s presence had resided whenever he had been in this room, sprawling on the couch with limbs that were not made for human space, rubbing up against Hux’ mind to surround himself with order. 

‘I like how your mind works. So calm, everything with a place there and you know exactly where it is. Except me,’ he had murmured and turned, his outlandish face propped on his forearms on the back of the couch, framed by those soft black curls. ‘I don’t have a defined place in your mind… but you like that too.’

‘Get out, Ren,” Hux had snarled and found himself faced with pictures, shared imprints of them, naked, in bed and…. That had ended predictably. 

He looks up again and shrugs. “Kylo Ren has duties and the Supreme Leader demanded his presence, just like he demands peak performance from me and his troops. Sentiment is all fine and well, as long as it does not interfere with performance.”

Reina’s gaze only seems to become sadder. Hux holds in a sigh, she is a romantic at heart. Her parents married her to an Imperial officer at a young age in exchange for protection and, strangely, they fell in love. When the occupation of her homeworld ended, Reina followed her husband into the unknown regions, taking their luck with the remnants of the Empire. He had been commander of a training frigate, high enough under Brendol Hux’s command to want to impress the man. Chance had it that she fell pregnant as her husband’s superior was looking for a nursemaid, an outdated concept, but a sign of status nonetheless. Children were cumbersome, loud and annoying to Hux’s mother, so Reina spent much of her time mothering young Hux. A habit she has never quite managed to curb.

This time Hux does not look away, but levels her with his best stare. “It will ease itself out eventually. For now all any of us can do is not let it get in the way of our jobs, Reina. Understood?”

“Of course, General.” She takes the gentle rebuke in stride and with a smile that has diffused a hundred situations. In fact, it has softened many of his visitors before they even entered his office. Maybe her charm comes from having two mixed race children in a notoriously speciesist society. Hux doesn’t know, but honestly, beyond making sure that her children are safe and given the chances that she wants for them, he doesn’t care much. 

“But Hux?” Maybe he really should reprimand her more often. 

“Yes, Reina?” 

“Ignoring the truth won’t make it go away. Admitting it at least gives to a chance to deal with it.”

“With what?” He doesn’t hide his annoyance. No reason to pamper her with hollow politeness.

“The fact that you got more than just sex from him.” She pauses, thinks. “You were so… “ 

Hux’ head snaps up, lips pressed tight. Should she really dare say ‘happy’, he will have to kick her out and for once truly reprimand her. 

Reina is an intelligent woman, she says nothing, her gaze only brushes over his face before she shrugs with a helpless expression and turns to the door. 

“My apologies, General. The Citadel has sent the latest material reports on the Quigvhan mines.”

Hux stares at her back, at a loss for once, probing the empty spot where Kylo Ren’s sometimes mocking, sometimes thoughtful, often times outright playful and always chaotic presence had sat. 

“Send them through,” He says and is proud at how much he does not show.

The dreams were just a relief of the stress that the loss of Starkiller and its aftermath had put all of them under. So yes, maybe he misses Kylo Ren and his presence in his bed, his brutal sexuality that leaves both of them spent, but for once at ease in each other’s presence. Except that one first time, and yes, Hux is still irritated about that, about Ren standing just inside the door to his office, watching Hux finish what he so obviously could or would not. Brat. 

They had been the only two equals on this ship and this had been the only way Hux had to keep Ren under control, hopelessly outgunned by his Force powers and in constant danger thanks to his unpredictable temperament. 

But Ren had not truly been unpredictable. Not when he sat in here and they discussed battlefield tactics, shared projects. Not, once his aggression had been channeled in a way that was beneficial to them both.

He is intelligent, if peculiar. A great tactician that brings something to the battlefield that no one else has. Drive, Ferocity and the Force.

The Force. The Force to slip into the outer layers of Hux’s mind, a constant whisper, like a presence in his thoughts. The Force, to break the minds of anyone but that Scavenger girl. And maybe even her, given enough time.

Ren could do things with that power of his that went far beyond Hux’s understanding of how the universe works, even if he would rather bite off his tongue than to actually admit to it.

 

So... what if it were real? The dreams, any of it? 

The thought tears through Hux with the sudden ferocious power of a blaster bolt, a sudden clarity that this _is_ about Ren. Hux has skirted around the thought for a whole week, never quite grasping what left him so unsettled... That the dreams feel like Ren, taste like him. Always a little ‘other’, but by now so familiar that ‘other’ is the taste of salt on Ren’s skin when Hux sinks his teeth into the Knight’s shoulder. 

What if Ren is projecting the pain he feels into a mind he already knows, one he has made his home in whenever he can’t be bothered with making sense of the unholy mess that is his own?

Even then…. Why should he care? He and Kylo Ren might have a congenial relationship based solely on mutual disdain and great sex, but that is where it ends. Ren had wanted to leave, he had wanted to go to Snoke and ‘finish his training.’

But … had he really?

That last night before his departure, Hux had found Ren in his quarters once more, drinking his brandy, his presence too large for the walls to hold him. Hux had been worn down, wrung dry by too many people looking to him for guidance or someone to blame, too much work trying to re-consolidate the First Order. 

For one moment, as the door slid shut behind Hux’ back, he’d had to actually ponder if he was annoyed or relieved to find his bed partner here, uninvited of course. He had not been prepared for the look on Ren’s peculiar face, such sadness, such deep despair reflected in his captivating eyes…

That had been before Ren had slammed the glass on the table and let himself be fucked into the cushions until nothing remained of the commander of the Knights of Ren but a moaning, mindless creature begging for relief. 

“I’ll miss you…” 

Ren’s whisper had hung in the air and vanished without response in the perpetual darkness that spooled between them, fed by their hate and volatility and the desperate attempt to not be more; to not have any business in the others’ affairs except for the times when they inevitably clashed. Hux had followed the strange sound and let it die with cruelly calculated coldness. 

What if he hadn’t? 

 

“Oh for Fuck’s sake, Ren,” Hux jerks back from the memories, startled by the violence of his own curse. 

He needs to review the mining reports, their shipyards need those materials and since Hux is actually somehow responsible for weapons development he should put some effort into his duties.

Instead it takes him two minutes to start his com system and encrypt his access with his personal codes. Enough to brew a pot of coffee, an excuse as convenient as any for delaying... 

He is only going to follow the flight plan of Ren’s shuttle. Appease that nagging worry in the back of his head. 

Because Ren is just the person who could himself get snagged and captured by pirates or something similarly ridiculous. 

_No, he isn’t_ , a voice in his head whispers and Hux has to close his eyes not to lash out.

It doesn’t matter whether Ren is or isn’t someone who would manage to get himself into ridiculous situations, Hux had an additional transponder signal installed on his shuttle anyways. Just as he had a tracker installed in Ren’s belt and been right about it. 

His fingers twitch at the thought and the unbidden memory. Ren in the blood stained snow, fingers digging into the hole in his side in an attempt to slow the bleeding. The deep groove that had split his face and the sheer agony in his eyes. The agony had stayed, as much a permanent fixture in the following days as the new scar. 

“I killed my father, Hux, and no, I do not feel stronger for it,” Ren had confessed softly, his voice muffled and his head turned away from Hux. Easy to ignore, to pretend he hadn’t heard.

Hux may have inwardly berated the man for his sentimentality, but he had never sent Kylo away.

“What are you doing here?” the General would inevitably ask when he found him in his rooms, idling about, taking up space that wasn’t his, drinking alcohol that wasn’t his either. Time and again, the same question, it developed into a routine that Hux could understand.

And Kylo would always answer: “I was waiting for you of course,” as if that was reason to disturb Hux. “I was bored.”

It had all been just a variation of the game they had been playing for months, an evolution should one so wish to call it. 

‘A Fool’ Hux calls himself when he finds that Ren’s shuttle had safely arrived on Snoke’s planet. 

He frowns as he finds that it left again, but without the doubled safety layer of Ren’s belt signal. The signal is nowhere to be found.

He calls it curiosity; he just wants to see where Kylo’s shuttle went without him. The flight pattern filed ends at a backwater world but there’s no shuttle there. It’s as if the black monstrosity Kylo pilots has vanished into the dark of space. 

For a few moments Hux idly drums his fingers on his desk. If Ren’s shuttle left without him, he could still be in the Citadel. There would be no way to confirm or deny that, with no contact that Hux trusts enough. Asking would reveal too much about Hux _and_ about Ren.

But. Reviewing what little Hux knows about Snoke and his ties to the Knight of Ren, Hux can make well educated guesses. He feels his eyes narrow and tries to decide how much of what he knows is factual enough for his next move.

At the Citadel the rest of High Command sits governing over the planets of the First Order. Hux is the only member who is a high ranking military member and is out in the field. He is their eyes and ears and they must bow to him on strategic and military matters. Just as he must accept their decrees on governing the planets. Snoke plays at being a figurehead, yet is active enough that his is the final word on every subject. 

Hux understands what Snoke is doing. He plays hands off, letting High Command do the often petty and always exhausting work of keeping everything running smoothly. As long as that is happening, all is well and Snoke takes the credit for their service. He intercedes only when he needs to, reminding everyone of his position as Supreme Leader and keeping them all in line. Not only is Snoke powerful in the Force, which is terrifying to most men; Snoke also holds the leash of the Knights of Ren. They are the closest things to High Priests that the First Order has, their blend of religion and cruelty serve Snoke well.

Which means that it is most likely that Ren is not on Core One. Too much goes on there, too many people who might see what Force training entails. Snoke cannot want that. The Force magicians keep their secrets closely guarded otherwise they might lose their mystery. Also, Hux determines, the Citadel is too far from wherever Snoke himself may be hidden. No one has ever seen the man (if he is even one) in person, the Supreme Leader presents himself only in that towering hologram. Well, except to Ren, maybe, and that is where his search must follow.

Hux needs to look for another ship departing in a fairly narrow timeframe around the time Ren shuttle left. This second ship will most likely have a specified flight plan that it did not follow. A phantom. 

The quiet warmth that spreads through him takes Hux by surprise, the instinctive understanding that he is right, the growing realization that accompanies the solution of a difficult problem. Not quite victory but something very like it.

It settles into him, spreads through him to coax a mirthless grin on his face he he turns his mind back to work.

 

***

 

Hux’s stomach forcibly reminds him that it has been too many days with too few meals. It growls and grumbles and Hux knows he has to eat, but the idea of solid food makes him feel nauseated. He has been surviving on liquid calories and ration bars. He needs real food though, he must keep himself in good working order and he can use this meal to further his search for Kylo. Shame flushes hotly through him that finding Ren is more important than self-care. 

His mind skitters away from the fact that the longer Kylo is gone the worse Hux feels. Having an outlet for sex and violence is not tantamount to running his ship well or to keeping the First Order together. He has tactical strikes he needs to plan, pockets of the Resistance in the so called neutral territories that need to be wiped out before they grow any stronger. Before they decide that the First Order is an easy target.

With more confidence than he feels, Hux enters the officer’s mess hall and heads to his table. Usually he eats alone in his office or his quarters, his presence here more a concession to his officers’ need to see him as one of them. Hux, in a strategy of his own, chooses to occasionally invite an officer to dine with him. 

He began it in order to start fostering their loyalty to him, it spurs them on, makes them work harder to earn the honor and for Hux it is a chance to gauge the state of his ship without the heavy filter of official reports. On extremely rare occasions, he will invite one of the men or women that are completely his to dine with him in order to assign them a special task.

His table is in the less crowded back of the room, situated near a viewport, set apart from the other tables by more than just the above standard regulation plates and flatware. Whoever is dining with him, for as long as they don’t raise their voices, no one can hear them.

Hux doesn’t care if he dines on anything elegant, but it supposedly gives prestige to his rank and station. His soft sneer at the absurdity goes unnoticed in the low level buzz of conversation that permeates the room; his performance should be all that matters, not ostentatious veneers.

Tonight he has asked Lt. Salan to join him. 

The man is relatively new, he’d only been out of the Academy for two years before he had come to Reina’s and therefore Hux’s attention. Salan’s younger sister had contracted a rare disease and the treatment had been far beyond what a junior officer could ever hope to afford, but since Salan is a whiz with computers, a talented slicer who can hack into just about anything without leaving a trace or a trial, Hux had made it a priority to offer his assistance

The Lieutenant arrives shortly after Hux has taken his seat, impeccably dressed, but with a strand of short hair brushed out of order over his forehead, cheeks flushed a light pink under his dusky skin tone. Everyone in the hall knows this is his first time being invited to the General’s Table, heads turning as he makes his way past them and Hux, who rarely cares about gossip, wonders what rumors will fly through the ship tomorrow; how Salan’s prestige will rise or fall from this.

“Sorry I’m late, sir. Just got off shift,” Salan salutes sharply. 

“It’s fine, Lieutenant. I just arrived myself,” Hux extends a hand silently inviting the young man to sit.

Salan has barely arranged his napkin when their plates arrive, a spicy dish that Hux barely tastes. He enjoys the wine, though, while he picks at the food in front of him, his gut too tight with distraction.

Hux lets silence stretch between them until it becomes strained and he is sure that he has Salan’s undivided focus; then he leans forward. The small movement immediately catches the Lieutenant’s attention and he drops his fork as if he expects to be reprimanded.

“How is your sister?” Hux asks, feigning interest to bridge the gap and remind the young man of his debt. Salan’s sister had indeed been an interesting case. Warloff’s disease was caused by a virus native to Core One, relatively rare, but with possible dire consequences; though the virus itself was not deadly, its extremely high division rate overwhelmed the immune system of the host, leading to a complete breakdown. If caught early enough, strict quarantine was the recommended treatment, bolstered by anti-viral medication. The Lieutenant’s sister had been infected on a vacation and by the time she had been diagnosed, secondary infections had already attacked her organs, requiring bacta treatment in total isolation.

“She’s doing really well, sir. Responding better to the treatment than her doctors expected. I’d like to personally thank you again for intervening on our behalf,” Salan says, the blush spreading across his cheeks again. 

But, Hux is pleased to note, the man is looking him in the eyes and his voice is steady. He isn’t fawning or trying too hard to ingratiate himself. Yes, this is exactly the kind of officer he is looking for.

Leaning back Hux steeples his fingers together, finally just giving up on the food. He regards the young man in front of him, carefully layering on the hesitation of a man that finds himself in the position of having to ask for a favor. This is not a favor though, Hux has bought and paid for this man’s cooperation and now is the time to start collecting. 

“I find myself in a predicament, Lt. Salan,” Hux says softly and now it is Salan who leans forward, a keen light of interest in his eyes.

“Yes, sir? If there is anything I can do to help, just name it.”

“Your particular skill set was brought to my attention, because I need to track down some suspicious flight plans, a shuttle that might seem to disappear. Sadly, I’m not a liberty to divulge anything yet… I’m more looking to see if there is anything that is of concern,” Hux says, letting secrecy bleed into his tone. Nothing too obvious but suspicious enough that Salan will understand to keep his mouth shut. He stares at the Lieutenant, waiting to see if he will have to spell it all out.

He meets the frank and shrewd stare of someone who understands very well. The man’s mouth parts slightly and Salan wets his lips.

“I think I understand, sir. This is something you need someone with delicacy to peek into. Am I right?” Salan’s voice is barely above a whisper. The man holds Hux’ gaze steadily, he does not look around guiltily nor does he show any markers that he might be uncomfortable with what Hux is insinuating.

“You are correct. I need to find that ship’s actual destination and I expect it to be well hidden,” Hux dares to admit and watches as excitement leaps into the lieutenant’s face.

“Which level of security are we talking about, sir?”

“Command level,” Hux says and dabs the corners of his mouth with the napkin, watching as Lieutenant Salan blinks in slow realization.

“I will need to write some routines, sir, programs to… “ 

Hux raises an eyebrow and Salan breaks off. “Leave it to me, sir,” he adds with a sharp, confident nod.

“I’ll call you in for a performance review before the end of the week. Will that be enough time?” Hux makes it sound like question. There is an incentive and a threat there as well, Salan’s career can rest on this special project.

“I’ll need two off shifts if I forego sleep, sir.” 

“I’d rather you did not, Lieutenant,” Hux counters to Salan’s cocky grin. The man’s earlier nervousness has completely vanished and Hux finds that he worries; the Lieutenant might believe that he now has something on his commanding officer, though Salan only needs to think for a minute to understand that he has exactly nothing.

Hux is always careful, he hasn’t asked for anything specific outright, just a ship and a destination. This transaction is entirely verbal on Hux’s part, there is no paper trail to prove that it originates with him and… Hux’ mind stutters over the word – paper trail. It settles around his shoulders like an epiphany, like the emotional equivalent of one word: “Yes!” 

 

***

 

_“There…,” he croons and settles an incorporeal hand on the General’s shoulder._

_“You’re doing good. Just hurry a bit, alright? He’s dying.”_

_Keeping a connection to Hux is tiring, but not as tiring as what the General’s own mind does, running into constant blockades and walls that conditioning has erected. Like a labyrinth his thoughts snap back into approved structures as soon as they deviate. And the approved structure says to follow those who command him in all things._

_“Obi-Wan? A little help?”_

_“And what exactly am_ I _supposed to do, Anakin?”_

_“I don’t know, convince him! You’re the negotiator after all.”_

_***_

 

Even though he has set events in motion, Hux still feels a twinge of guilt. He should trust the plan that the Supreme Leader has laid out,, not feed the nagging doubt in the back of his mind. His concern for Kylo… it should be easy to put aside. 

Hux had planned to keep his distance, had originally not even planned to let himself be fucked into oblivion by the idiot or get otherwise involved, except maybe in his carefully staged murder, but nothing ever goes according to plan with Kylo Ren.

 

Unbidden, his mind flashes to an image of Ren spread across his ridiculously wide bed, looking fucked out and debauched as he grins lazily at Hux. It makes something tighten low in Hux’s gut, makes him ache.

 

Now that Kylo is gone it does not help that Hux has to wonder how precarious his own position is. High Command would love to see him brought low, far too often Snoke has countermanded their rulings in favor of following one of Hux’s suggestions.

 

It had felt good to have the Supreme Leader’s confidence. It proved his training right, it validated everything Hux had gone through to get here. To think that he may have lost it, destroyed Snoke’s faith in him... It makes the old self-recriminations flare, recollections of what happens when one disappoints churning in the back of his mind.

“Reina, I need you to clear my schedule this morning,” Hux tells his secretary. She gives him a penetrating look that makes his back straighten, makes him want to demand what she sees in him.

 

“Yes, sir. I’m not sure I can put off your holo-conference with Chancellor Thivoor, he’s demanding the reports about the infiltration of precinct 47,” she apologizes, her face betraying her worry. He wants to reassure her, but he does not have the energy for it. 

At least he can truthfully state that the mastermind behind bombing the oscillator is dead, killed by Ren in an attempt to salvage the situation. It’s a good spin for the situation. He needs to remind them more often that Starkiller was actually a resounding success. He had obliterated the whole center of the Republic in one fell swoop. Let them prove that they could do better.

 

“Fine, remind me fifteen minutes before I’m supposed to be there. I have some work I need to look into,” Hux sighs. 

It’s easy to lose himself in the bureaucrat’s solution: paperwork. Nothing happens in the First Order that is not recorded in one way or another. Even if records are missing, transactions end in dead ends, ,that’s a very particular kind of record in itself. 

What exists leaves an imprint, be it a screw that costs one hundredth of a credit and will not be noticed until a hundred of them have vanished or a shuttle. 

And since this particular shuttle had a credit count behind it that ranked in the thousands… someone must have paid for it. And if someone had paid for it, that cost location likely had paid for other things as well. Hux doesn’t yet know what those are, but he will find out. 

It’s nothing but holochess. He doesn’t yet truly know his opponent, but they are playing by the same rules. They have to. Wiping databases is a lot harder than wiping minds, at least if Ren is to be believed.

Hux begins with what he should be looking into, expenditure reports for Starkiller Base, branching out from there, digging into records that are related for other projects. If anyone thinks to look into what Hux is doing, it will all look perfectly natural.

He has the clearance to cull the data he needs easily, the hard part comes in separating the wheat from the chaff. There is much he has to discard, taken just to hide what he was truly after. 

The breakthrough to a first true lead feels close with his brain zeroing in on R&D time and time again, no matter where he is looking, when Reina buzzes him to prepare for his meeting.

The thrill of the hunt becomes the annoyance of time wasted in the span of seconds.

He spends a frustrating forty-five minutes with the Chancellor, forced to indulge the man in his love for hearing himself drone. Hux only half listens to the aging man, Thivoor is one of the few who remembers the old Senate and he likes to pretend that his word holds as much weight now as it did then. Hux knows better, the man is a minor functionary at best, an old relic who doesn’t grasp that even his relevance as a figurehead is fading.

Still, Hux needs to remain neutrally polite. Thivoor reports to High Command and antagonizing him is not worth the possible backlash. Not yet. Not when he still has so much work to do.

Hux defends himself with cold facts, stays still and lets the Chancellor’s rants flow over and around him. He pays it no heed, his mind still half focused on his other task. 

He should know all R&D installations. He thought he did and it rankles.

When the meeting ends, Hux lets his posture sag slightly, allowing himself the luxury of a few seconds respite while his sigh fades in the silence of his office. Then he he dives back into sifting through reports with an alacrity that surprises even him.

Hours pass before his finds his first tangible clue - contract bids for an installation on a planetoid hidden deep in the Unknown Regions. The bid prices for the work are astronomically high, mainly due to the quality of materials and the extremely harsh working conditions. They need specialised saws, that he finds are meant to cut crystals. The planet had been discovered by an expedition 20 years ago, in the early stages of the First Order’s bid to claim the unknown regions and truly, the local flora is in large parts crystalline in nature. 

Once he has a trail it becomes easier.

He tracks reports for a new R&D facility, a medical clinic, and a new trooper training center that all end in the same bids and contracts on that same planetoid. Someone is working hard to hide what is being built there, but there are enough breadcrumbs for Hux to follow that he thinks perhaps he has the wrong place. The trooper training facility has no actual _training_ equipment requests put in, but to find that out he has to dig through six months of requisitions and by the end of it he is tired enough to doubt again. 

Doubt inevitably creeps in, no matter how much Hux reminds himself that he has always been superior at organization; he has followed trails like this before. Maybe none so scattered, but when you get a group of people working on a project like this there is a greater margin of error that they won’t cover their tracks as well as they might like. 

If he knows anything; it’s that once you uncover one piece, more appear. 

And they do, with surprising frequency. Over the next few days he discovers contracts dated almost a year ago, documents that review and revise blueprints, reports on site work and later on construction. Then as soon as two months ago movement begins - requisitions, background checks, movement of personnel both medical and military. Then came the expenditure reports for drugs and specialists that were for no star ship or First Order base.

He becomes half lost in his research, wading through reports and summaries that have nothing to do with what he is searching for, just to confuse his trail. If anyone is even looking. He will not risk it, Hux knows that in paranoia lies safety.

The more he finds and reads, the more paranoid he becomes.

Rightfully so, if only half of this is true.

Hux meticulously shies away from thinking about his father ever since he died. Hux Sr. had wanted so much for the galaxy, to create lasting order and he had instilled this legacy in his son. A duty bigger than Hux alone.

In Snoke, Hux had seen someone who shared his father’s vision, someone to further a common goal and with each word of praise, each instance where he had won Snoke over against Ren, he had felt vindicated. 

The more Hux reads now, the more vague snippets of information he collates, the more there is an inescapable realization dawning.

Everything in Hux rebels at the picture he is uncovering. It is unbelievable. It rocks the foundations of what he has been raised to uphold, an atrocious slap in the face of all that he believes. Hux pushes away from his desk, his stomach roiling and the bitter taste of bile lining his throat.

Because if these reports are to be believed, if Hux is understanding everything properly then so much of what he thought about Snoke has been a sham. He thought Snoke wanted to elevate the First Order, to make it greater than the Empire had been. 

However, the deeper Hux digs the more it becomes increasingly apparent that Snoke is using the First Order as a smokescreen against the New Republic and the Resistance. Snoke is merely bleeding what he can from the First Order until it no longer serves his interests. If it even survives beyond its use to Snoke. 

Chills of ice work their way up and own Hux’s spine, five seconds later it is as if he is burning up. His skin feels stretched too tight over his body. His mind grasps solidly onto one thing.

This is all Ren’s fault.

No, Hux tells himself. Kylo is someone convenient to blame. Instead, Hux should be thanking the bastard. If Ren’s disappearance had not weighed so heavily on him, Hux never would have uncovered schemes and plans shrouded in the underbelly of the Order. 

 

Which means that if Hux accepts the truth he has gleaned from the reports then he must assume that there is a very real danger for Kylo Ren. If Snoke can discard the First Order like so much dross, what would he do to a Master of the Knights of Ren who had no further purpose? Snoke already has six replacements lined up. Ones easier to handle than their notoriously mercurial master. Ren might be the most powerful among them, but he undeniably comes with inbuilt challenges. And dammit, did he not admit to Hux how much the murder of his father had shaken him? Fool! Utter, unrepentant fool .

He will need to speed up his time tables.

 

***

 

It has been close to eight weeks since Ren has been gone. Missing. Possibly training, possibly not. Probably not. In all this time, Hux has barely gotten enough sleep to keep him functioning, he has been resorting to cat naps that last no more than 20 minutes. He cannot afford to slip into dreams.

He also cannot afford to live off of caffeine and alcohol alone, yet he is trying. It has kicked Reina’s mothering to a whole new level, one that has amused the hell out of Phasma.

Just yesterday Hux had his break in finding the destination for the shuttle that probably carried Kylo off world from the Citadel. It had been marked in the logs as carrying supplemental supplies, but the armament on board and the number of troops assigned to it had not matched up. And, for some odd reason, his access codes had not pulled up the actual logs, but empty documents that had said ‘For eyes only’. Hux was eyes.

That was why he had summoned Salan, nodding as if he understood the myriad defense mechanisms the slicer claimed protected the data, far too elaborate for a mere transport log.

Maybe because of Hux’s actual ignorance and his inability to deal with it, or maybe because of actual truth, but watching Salan work, it felt like they were relying on sheer luck to to get in. 

The Lieutenant had mumbled something about finding that one second in the overlapping fluctuations in the firewalls for him to slip in. The tension had both men wound tightly and Hux longed to feel that sense of rightness that had been dogging his steps.

“Soon, soon,” Salan had whispered almost like a chant, his eyes darting furiously over the screen. For one, brief moment Hux could have sworn he saw a faint blue tinge to the monitor.

“There!” the Lieutenant had crowed and Hux silently released the breath he had been holding. The screen lit up as his passcode was accepted.

“Fine work, Lieutenant,” Hux had said as he watched information stream by and Salan expertly pick out what they needed.

As Salan handed him the datastick, he had offered one of those cocky grins that was fast growing on Hux.

“Told you I could do it, General, sir!”

 

***

 

Sipping at his coffee Hux runs his eyes over the data on his private datapad once more. With a location, the last thing for them to do is to finalize the shortlist of troopers he had suggested to take with him. And he will need a back-up plan.

Go there, get Ren, hide Ren on the Finalizer seems like a logical, straight-forward endpoint to this endeavor. Hux can hide someone on his ship, secure in the knowledge that the officers under him, the non-commissioned and every Stormtrooper commander has been vetted by Reina, Phasma and him and can be trusted.

But if the dreams can be believed - and really, can he continue to doubt them - then Ren might not be in the best of health; he might not be able to be moved and Hux in need of contingency in case he cannot return to the Finalizer right away. 

There is a tremor in his hand as he lifts his mug, the hot liquid burning as it goes down his throat. He really is planning on defying Snoke. On finding Ren. On learning the truth.

It goes against everything he is, everything he was trained for. For one desperate moment, panic claws at Hux; locks his muscles and stops his breathing and blanks his mind. What if this is an elaborate test, something Snoke is doing to assess Hux’s loyalty? Perhaps the dreams are sent by Snoke to prod at the General, to goad him into an action so Hux reveals his hand.

Then, just as his vision begins to white out at the corners and he goes light headed it releases him. 

Hot coffee splashes onto his hands, stains his jacket, and sloshes onto his boots. 

“Dammit!”

“Temper, General,” Phasma tells him as she enters his office. He swears he can hear the smile in her voice even though she is fully armored.

Hux gives her one hot glare that is rendered ineffectual against the stoic façade of her helmet. He can see himself reflected in her armor and to his critical eye Hux thinks he looks unkempt.

“Report, Captain,” Hux commands with a half-hearted snarl to a brief half-bow from Phasma and he knows, just knows, that she is grinning at him under that damned helmet. 

“I know you wanted a specific skill set in the troopers for this mission, sir, but I have an alternate proposal for you,” Phasma begins, her voice softly melodic in a way that means Hux will not like her suggestion. 

“And that would be…?” he drawls when she remains silent. 

“There is a special commando unit that I would like you to consider. I have been working with them personally, sir, and can attest to their abilities. Their leader, DG-1515, Codename: Flipside, has managed to create a unique environment with his men and if you check their records you’ll notice their success rate is close to 100%.” 

Phasma speaks in short, clipped tones. It is obvious that this group means something to her and because of that alone Hux takes the datapad she holds out to him and peruses the information. 

He mostly skims, looking for the pertinent intel, his eyes widening. What has possessed Phasma? 

Despite the fact that DG-1515 sailed through the Stormtrooper program with flying colors, has been the recipient of several battle recommendations, and was promoted to officer training at a laughably young age… there is something off about his squad. Nothing that would have them formally investigated at first glance, but there are subtle deficiencies in behavior that are clear warning signs. Small infractions are on record for every member of the squad and one of them, GB-5601, has constantly underscored in her evaluations.

Hux glances up, he lets his expression speak for him until Phasma lowers her head fractionally and Hux is certain she will withdraw her request.

“Respectfully, sir, I know they don’t fit the profile you prefer but their ability to complete a mission successfully outweighs perfection to regulations at times. With your life on the line I wouldn’t trust any other squadron to keep you safe,” Phasma tells him gravely.

“You have to be kidding me? These are the best you have to offer? Their personnel profiles read like a joke! The psych profile alone for SW-1120 should have washed him out of the program,” Hux scoffs disbelievingly.

Phasma is silent in a way that bodes ill. Hux knows, he just _knows_ , that her next words are going to set off the rage that seems to curl too close to the surface these days. He can feel the blood pounding behind his eyes and he raises a hand to halt her before she speaks.

“One good reason, Phasma. Just one,” Hux tells her wearily. If she can say one thing that can convince him, he will use her damn squad. But there is nothing that could possibly convince him, nothing at all.

“If I can’t be there, sir, and you’ve made it plain that I can’t; then they are the next best thing. They are the only ones I trust to protect you,” Phasma tells him flatly but with dignity.

Well. Hux lets the data pad clatter onto his desk. Apparently he was wrong. Phasma is the best, period. If these troopers are the only ones who have earned her high regard, Hux needs to respect that. Even if they are not regulation. Damn the woman! Damn her, for protecting them. She must have, because at least two of them are so far outside parameters that they should be a safe set-up for decommission and not placement in a specialised combat unit. Except, Phasma is anything but sentimental. So he’d trust her and go with it. If the worst came to the worst, Hux could protect himself.

“Fine. Fine, I’ll take them. At least they have the right squad size.... And I’ll need you to make sure my armor is ready, it’s been awhile since I’ve been on the front lines,” Hux concedes. He should, by all rights, tend to his armor himself but he knows Phasma, knows she won’t rest easy unless she does it. And, truth be told, he trusts her. Obviously far more than he should if she is saddling him with such a rag-tag crew.

 

***

 

The shuttle rattles through Hyperspace with the shaky safety of something that was built to never hold anything but interchangeable cannon fodder. The stormtroopers around Hux don’t seem to mind that the outer hull is just thick enough to withstand the forces of interstellar travel and light shelling, but lacks the maneuverability to actually evade anything. Maybe they don’t know. Maybe Hux only knows because he had to do the cost calculations when they lost one of those and the savings from the ship’s construction still outweighed the troopers lost, after apportionment. 

That hadn’t been his decision, but he regrets it anyways. Not for his sake, but for all the things that will never come to pass if he perishes now. 

 

The blueprints didn’t say anything of heavier defenses beyond a platoon of troopers and the five twin cannons on the roof, but Hux, though he knows he is good, never takes anything for granted. Not even his own information.

Four hours in Hyperspace, still 30 minutes to go. In three hours Phasma will supposedly find him after Hux will have failed to show up to a meeting. She will call the physician on duty, Dr. Lona, who will find the General feverish and unresponsive with a high count of Warloff antibodies in his blood.

Lona will immediately place him in absolute quarantine and put him into an artificial coma. 

Hux smiles. He owes Lieutenant Salan for more than just the location they are headed to. 

Finding someone to donate the antibodies had not been easy. Salan himself has a low count, he is one of the lucky ones whose immune system never really responded, but Lona had still had two samples in kryo storage from a tech officer that had been infected the year before, a precautionary measure to follow his healing progress from some liver damage. Isolating the antibodies, injecting them into Hux blood to let the medical droid draw the correct conclusions had then only been a formality. 

Hux could use Lona’s little love affair with one of his nurses to assure the man’s silence, but having a medical droid make the diagnosis would automatically go into the databases and was thus written in stone.

Eight weeks quarantine for Hux. After three they can bring him out of the coma to resume communications with the outside world via a secure comlink, the codes for which are in his pocket. 

More than enough time to find out what is going on and hopefully find Kylo Ren in the process and maybe commit some violence along the way.

Hux is itching for a fight. 

He had forced himself to sleep, to eat the last few days and nights. The dreams were not pleasant, but at least they weren’t new. _Shhh_ , he had whispered to the broken voice that felt like Kylo Ren. He didn’t know what else to say, so he had sunk into the pain of the beatings and taken it. 

He had woken, assembled his DLT-19, disassembled it over his first cup of coffee and a nutrition bar and then walked out into the halls of his ship. 

Controlled and together, all the while Phasma in the background had handled logistics and Reina had pushed the most important projects through to him, letting everything minor stack up for his deputy commanders, once he was gone.

At night he had walked back into his rooms and sat on the spot where Ren preferred to slouch, a holobook in hand or meditating, and had reassembled his rifle. 

Rumour has it that he has no combat experience and Hux never saw any reason to correct people’s assumptions.

Everybody, including Ren, has access to is official performance charts that show he is a decent shot under range conditions and has fulfilled the required close combat courses, with a commendation in armed close combat or, as the soldiers like to call it: the officer’s course. 

No one fights with a saber anymore, the course itself a leftover relic from the days of the Empire, but it had been old already then, inherited from the Republic when the weapons of the Jedi had still been en vogue. Or rather, pale imitations thereof. 

Unofficially his father had, of course, made sure that his most prized pupil received the necessary combat training off and on the field. Hux had known how to handle a sniper rifle since he was eight. He scored his first kill when he had been ten. Another boy had made the fatal error of letting his fear get the better of him and bolted. His commander had ordered Hux to shoot him. Hux had murmured “Yes, sir,” to his father and pulled the trigger.

When he trains, he trains alone under a special trooper designation that solely exists to give him untraceable access to the simulations. BH-1205 had been created on the day of his birth, one more thing he needs to thank his father for.

Hux time and time again finds the secrecy surrounding his skillsets an asset, his familiarity with the heavy sniper rifle that rest across his lap now something only dead people were aware of, usually.

Phasma knows, as does Reina.

That doesn’t bode well for DG-1515 and his unit after this is over, although Hux has not yet made a conclusive decision. Phasma will be angry if he kills them, but even she will have to agree that it is the undeniably safer route. It would be a shame, though. 

So far he has yet to find any fault in Phasma’s favorite unit commander. The man is impeccable in his leadership abilities, indicating no emotional component in his orders whatsoever. Surprising, since his troopers seem attuned to him far beyond the usual level of subordinates, even trusted men.

DG-1515 had taken one look at Hux’s gun, then at Hux, without fawning about him out of his General’s insignia. “Sniper, sir?” he had asked.

Hux glances sideways to SW-1120, the unit’s designated sniper. The man had ignored him ever since Hux had come on board and they’d been seated next to each other, with no indication if that is due to the man’s anti-social tendencies or his noted disregard for authority.

It doesn’t matter. The unit is a freak show, but one that functions in perfect tune. DG-1515 employs Hux like a vice commander, deferring to him in questions of their overall objective, but each time Hux tried to give an order in the pre-op briefing, his men turned to their commander first for confirmation.

Loyalty. Individuality. Those aren’t parameters for Stormtroopers, they are faults. And yet… and yet…. As their ship drops out of Hyperspace and Hux fastens his helmet, he thinks of duty, of following orders and the punishment that might await him for this little excursion. He doesn’t think of regret as he grabs his rifle and disembarks.

 

***

 

They march into the main building gleaming wet from the rain outside, the black special trooper armors slick with blood. Hux smells it on them, on himself, he sees it in the soaking footsteps they leave on the floor.

The additional armor he wears over his field uniform chafes where it touches against his neck, the wet fabric unyielding and heavy. It gives weight to this, to him, grounds him beyond the warm punch of the rifle’s recoil to his shoulder and the unchecked power of the kill. More so as he slings the DLT-19 onto his back and draws his sidearm, curbing the high of battle into something more contained and controllable. 

 

The walls of the low slung building blend perfectly in the surroundings, the pale white, covered in vines, disappearing into the background of the cliff and the crystal trees.

 

From the inside low windows stretch over half the front wall. Plaststeel, likely bulletproof and explosion resistant, just like the Mandalorian concrete that surrounds them.

Under foot runs a dark rug along the whole length of the corridor, self-cleaning and warming from the look of it. Sensible in the unwelcoming weather conditions. Horridly expensive nonetheless.

 

The rectangular room they are looking for is located on the second subterranean floor, half built into a cliff overlooking the deep gorge behind the installation. The irony of it all doesn’t escape Hux. They had tried to buried this whole thing as deep as possible and in the end that had been the lucky break that had led Hux to this impeccably kept hellhole via a long paper trail of expensive repairs to its reinforced walls.

Hux is an expert in tracking repairs and isn’t that just funny.

 

Nobody stops them until they reach the double reinforced doors of their destination, from the outside a standard issue First Order detention cell. And then they open and Hux finds himself faced with the Galaxy’s most expensive human science experiment.

The first blaster bolt sizzles past his head with a healthy margin of error. The response is two shots from his escort and a body drops inside, like a bloody sacrifice to the altar of monstrosity in the middle of the room.

Everything in here is brand new and sparkling, the best tech. Sleek lines with clear glass and shining metal. A long blind mirror sits to their right, big enough to hide a whole observation room

 

They have displayed him like the centerpiece of a vernissage, their experiment, and Hux isn’t sure if there is anything left in Kylo Ren worth salvaging. His eyes stare sightlessly towards the ceiling, tears streaming over lips torn and bitten bloody. They have fixated his head in a vice, the right side of his face is a bruised and bloody mess and Hux can only guess that the idiot slammed it into the headrest. 

He remembers the dreams. Far too vividly.

 

Hux isn’t even aware he’s striding into the room, carelessly stepping over the body of the doctor that tried to shoot them, until he sees his hand curl around one of the port tubes, every muscle in his arm tensed to rip the damn thing out in a visceral need to remove it from Ren’s body. 

The internal struggle is brutal but brief and it is only the sure knowledge that he has no idea what poison is being pumped into Kylo’s veins that stays his hand. Removal could well be fatal. However, the need to yank is violent and alive and Hux manages to release the tube only to spin and smash his fist into the panel behind him. He feels his knuckles split but no pain. Not yet. The travesty of what he’s looking at is wiping away all of his better judgement.

 

Kylo is bruised, bloody and naked, chained to an advanced version of the standard issue interrogation chair like a rabid dog. He is emaciated, his hair matted and filthy (he’d hate that, he takes such stupid, childish pride in his hair). His body covered in old and new wounds. Some self-inflicted, most not. Hux can see an IV and several ports in his neck and arm. There are needle marks in the bend of Kylo’s arms, tiny pinpricks on his thighs.

 

With something akin to his normal aplomb, Hux removes one glove and his bare hand hovers momentarily, steadying himself before allowing his fingertips to settle on Kylo’s chest. He aims for the sternum but is inevitably drawn to the faint scar that runs along the second rib. It’s thin and pale, almost vanishing in the sickly grey skin. Stupid. Typically Kylo Ren.

 

The thing with the knife. Hux doesn’t quite remember how he came to draw his knife, sitting on Ren’s hips with his cock seated deeply in Hux body. He remembers the tip resting carefully against the Knight’s chest. He remembers all too well the challenge he had issued and how Kylo Ren, driven by all his Mynock eaten craziness, had leaned forward, rosebud lips (far too soft and far too red) open around a sigh as the tip dug in and with slowness that equaled a caress had slid along the bone.

 

Right above them in that glaringly sterile room, right above Ren’s abused body, hangs a far too bright lamp. Kylo doesn’t deal too well with bright lights. So Hux shoots it out.

The fine shards rain on him, pelt his back and head, before any of them reach the man on the rack (they don’t).

 

Looking down now Hux remembers how he had tossed the knife behind him into the dark of his sleeping quarters, watching Kylo Ren smile with the madness only he was capable of, and had dug his teeth into the wound.

If he closes his eyes and concentrates, Ren’s exhilarated scream still reverberates around them even now. The Knight had kissed him, gently licked the blood off Hux lips, fed it back to him, the coppery taste connecting them for one blindingly brilliant moment.

“My blood is in you now,” Ren had whispered and Hux had smirked at him, for once their eyes on one level, their faces far too close. "My, aren't you quite the possessive little bitch, Ren."

 

For that, Kylo Ren had grabbed Hux and flipped him, pinning him under his heavy body and proceded to fuck him with such vicious abandon that Hux had been reduced to helpless whimpers and soundless screams until everything in him had gone quiet. Even his father’s disapproval. Nothing but blessed silence that had exploded in an orgasm that left him boneless.

“If I am a possessive little bitch, General," Ren had whispered, barely held above Hux' body by quivering arms, "what does that make you?"

"Aside from," he had spat, his cock driving painfully over far too sensitized nerves. "my possession?"

Hux still remembers wondering if he should care about that, but the silence in him hadn’t, so he hadn’t either, curling deeper into the body wrapped around his, idly fearful that he might leave. (He hadn’t)

 

Now and here Kylo’s bones press insistently against Hux palm as his fingers spread over the scar and search until they run into the faintest of hopes.

When he exhales it sounds suspiciously like a sigh as he finally locates the pulse that flutters frenetically beneath the pads of his fingertips. It’s weak and uneven; probably from drugs, likely from malnutrition, certainly from the abuse.

 

“Check the installation for any activated alarms,” Hux says over his shoulder, his voice as steady and commanding as it always is. DG-1515 still takes the additional second to look him over, then he salutes. “Sir.”

“And Lieutenant? Try to find me a living resident.”

DG-1515’s gaze flicks to the ruin that is Kylo Ren and something in his stance shifts. This time the salute is as crisp and sharp as they are usually only seen at the academy. “Yes, sir. And if I may add, Bunny-“ He corrects himself immediately. “GB-5601 is a fully qualified medic with exceptional test scores.”

“Get her,” Hux says and turns his gaze back to the human wreckage under his hand.

If Snoke thinks that he will let this pass, will lie down and take it like a good little soldier, he will be surprised.

 _I’ll kill you for this myself_ , Hux thinks and slowly curls his fingers in, only to stretch them again, the pads softly rubbing along the scar.

 

***

 

_"Well done." The doubt in Obi-Wan's face softens with the hint of a smile. "And now? How do we plan on fixing this?"_

_"We use Hux as a bridge into Ben's mind. That he actually came bodes well... for both of them."_

_"Love, Anakin? The man murdered billions of people..."_

_"So did I..." Anakin's eyes roam over the crude display of affection in from of them. "Tell me, Obi-Wan, what made me worth saving? When is a monster not a monster?"_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we dish out the pain:
> 
> Here are the outtakes:
> 
> "Which would piss Hux off on behalf of his daddy issues." "Isn't that the story of his life?"
> 
> \------
> 
> "Phasma is total bro" "I really kinda want to find a way to use this line." "Good luck with that."
> 
> \----
> 
> "didn't you mean "not beneficial"?"
> 
> "nono, Ren'S aggression had been channeled into the great sex they had ^^ that is totally benificial"
> 
> "yes, but due to the "not once" for me this sentence means that the aggression was never beneficial?"
> 
> "erm... there is a comma missing. fucking commas, man"
> 
> "aaaahhh!!! Dawning revelation  
> Conclusion: comas are bloody important!!"


	3. Mirror of Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The descent into madness isn't finished yet. But soon it will be time to wake up, Kylo. Pain can only last so long and you're going to have to decide eventually if you will bend or break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, warnings for this chapter:  
> threesomes  
> problematic dream sex including young Ben  
> mentions of all sorts of abuse and torture  
> a little knife play
> 
> Really. We're going to make this all better. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, no it isn't a train, and yes the boys will be happy. Er. Happy-ish.

_ They have moved him to a bed, cleaned him, replaced infected ports, wrapped him in blankets to keep him warm and comfortable. Anakin watches as Kylo Ren turns his face into the hand that cradles his head. The only reaction anyone has gotten out of him so far, aside from blind rage and mindless despair.  _

_ “You still can’t reach him?” _

_ “The drugs cut him off from the Force. They never could’ve handled him otherwise,” Anakin’s jaw locks, watching his friend close his eyes, deep - and wholly unnecessary breaths - expanding his chest.  _

_ “White noise and fog and sometimes a glimpse, a screaming voice.”  _

_ “Not even like a wall that I could break through… I don’t actually think that Force spirits can get hoarse, but…, ” Anakin’s hand catches in his hair, impatiently pulling a tangle out of the strands.   _

_ “Well, Anakin,” Obi-Wan shrugs, tilting his head, as if he listens to something only he can hear. “you’ll have to keep yelling then.” _

***

The broken silence… drip...drip...drip…is the worst.

Listening to his own blood hit the floor.

The cold cracks the stones, cracks his skin; keeps him shivering and his wounds open, leaking blood like tears.

What little of him is left intact after the Knights were through with him.

He remembers. The numbness that took over the pain at some point. The choking sobs that had turned into laughter as they dragged and kicked and touched him and he had screamed and begged and then had not begged anymore.

Kylo Ren remembers being fifteen, with holes in his memory and a name that felt strange, foreign on his tongue.

“If you want to be their Master, Kylo Ren, you will have to fight them for it. Each of them.” 

_ Yes _ , he had said, kneeling, tear stains not yet dried on his face. 

“But if you are not strong enough to tame them… “ Kylo Ren, freshly born and Ben Solo, hated for so long and still not dead, had looked over their shoulder, seen the six creatures that stood at his back, with the cold hand of danger prickling down his spine. “...they will continue to subdue you, Kylo Ren.”

“I am ready, Supreme Leader.”

He had lasted not five minutes.

Yes, he remembers being fifteen and nothing but pain and so cold... so cold… in the darkness. He cries. It hurts.

“I will… will make you proud. G-grant me s-strength, g-grandfather.” 

_ You have failed. You have paid the price for your failure. _

“Yes.”

_ Do not fail again. _

“Yes, grandfather.”

His grandfather had sounded like Snoke and it had felt just right. 

Kylo Ren had been fifteen and chained to the wall and the cold had seeped into his abused muscles and set off the pain to something worse. So much worse. His tears had been the only water given to him and he had been so strong. Then.

Kylo Ren remembers being fifteen and falling into the chains as his knees buckle and Hux walks out of the dark, whispering his name, promising relief. Promising… promising …

“I got you, Ren. I won’t let them touch you again.” 

Turning his head he kisses the hand, warm, the only warm thing in the dungeon. So soft his hands, because he always wears gloves. Supple, buttery leather to protect his beautiful hands. 

And eyes… so green… with gold embellished lashes to frame them. The only right frame. Dew drops in the morning as the sun comes up to touch the grass for the first time, immersing everything in light. 

How dare they!

“Do you think,” he murmurs into the soft skin of Hux’s palm, his voice singing with calculated menace, “that this will save you? Spare you?” Kylo Ren remembers being fifteen, He remembers blood sizzling on the lightsaber that his uncle helped him build. He remembers the cries of...someone… he remembers the heat, his living beating heart, the pain. Serenity. 

He remembers weakness and tears and his screams echoing through the chamber. He remembers the wall at his back and the dripping of his blood. He remembers sobbing. 

And hate. First of all, Kylo Ren remembers hate.

“Showing his face will only remind me how utterly delicious it is to skin a man alive.”

Laughing, he lunges.

The imposter jumps back, too far to reach now, too far to rip his face off with bare claws, to rip him apart with a scream that echoes back and forth, back and forth, back and forth and dies.

The chains have pulled taut behind him, straining his shoulders until the renewed pain tears at his muscles, jerks at the joint to bring it out of the socket. 

They think distance will save them, will keep him away, but Kylo Ren is fifteen and he is bleeding and dripping and he. will. not. be. dismissed. 

The breaking of his voice is the only thing he hears as the miniscule pull of the force drags the intruder closer and closer still, inch by inch nearer to his teeth and his hunger for pain. He sees fear, terror, desperation, yes. He sees...

“Kylo, no!” It is a whisper, a warm breath against his neck, the voice so faint inside his battered skull, the fleeting touch of a caress. Mother?

“Let him go, Ben.” Grandfather. 

Kylo Ren spits out

“Oh…  _ now _ you are talking?” he growls and slams his head against the wall. “It’s too late, Grandfather! I begged you for guidance as he died in my arms. I screamed for your help. And where were you? WHERE WERE YOU?”

Hux face is so close now, they want to taunt him with it. Want to torture him some more?

The touch comes unexpected, spears painfully through his defenses. Hesitant fingers skimming with infinite gentleness over the skin high on his left pectoral muscle, over the scar that is cut into his skin. The scar. They shouldn’t know. This is his, Hux gave it to him. It is his and Snoke never knew. Bright hot anger galvanizes him as Kylo lunges forward to hurt and maim whoever is touching him. His eyes snap open, momentarily confounded by the blessed dimness ( _ no more light no more bright please, _ his mind gibbers), to see blood trickle down a full, dark lip that he once loved to bite into. 

_ This will teach them _ , he thinks and screams ‘ _ No, I’m sorry’ _ , laughing at the face that they tried to mock him with.

***

Kylo Ren wakes with his back against the cool stone of the marble plinth. The only gentle touch he allows himself anymore. Comfort.

When he had chosen the image that now stares down on him it had been for the reminder of just how regal Hux was, how commanding. As he reaches out now, reaches up to touch, Kylo Ren chases the memory, the one where the uniform coat draws tight around Hux’s shoulders, his pale eyes burning up from within with a fire, brutal, but always contained and controlled, except when Kylo breaks the confines Hux uses to shackle his brilliant mind with. His fingers brush over the lifeless, dead glass, against hope conjuring the feel of warm flesh beneath his hands, the steady beat of Hux’s pulse under his fingers. He might not need to still so many hearts if this one would just beat again.

The bitter hatred floods his mouth, familiar pain that makes his teeth grind and his bones ache, guilt taunts him, knowledge that keeps from sleep. Screaming he lobs the thrice damned helmet aside. The resonant clang as it strikes the floor then the wall makes Kylo’s head hurt worse. Pain. He could fight against it, that’s all he does now anyways. Uselessly.

Like a penitent he prostrates himself, staring up at this one perfect image of his General. Stares, mouth agape, grappling for words that have lodged themselves sideway into his throat, clogged by this grief that just seems to never abate, until they break and start to hemorrhage out of him like blood, as if he can drain himself dry with them. 

Each kill, each triumph. How it feels to shear skin from a living man, how easy it is to crush a skull in his hands. The skill and precision he has learned so he can pull a man apart from the inside out using the Force alone. 

He unburdens himself to Hux sharing his secrets in hushed whispers. Hux understands, he knew what it took to subdue and control. Hux understood the harsh reality that creating a new world often left the old littered with dead bodies. As he murmurs his dark confessions into the stone it is as if phantom fingers slip through his hair. The lightest of caresses that soothes him, a sad facsimile of a memory, barely enough to keep some of the emptiness at bay.

Those are good times.

He's tired of having his mind play tricks on him, of seeing echoes of what he's lost everywhere. But he will take it, if it’s all he can have, for once too tired to rage against his fate. He knows the anger will come again but it's distant and with it gone he finds a small measure of clarity. 

It's reminiscent of the pride he had found in himself at defeating the second Knight. 

The thought loops around on itself and memory brings back the scent of lilacs and summer breezes. It's how his mother’s had smelled when he was young and Ben had felt safe burying himself in her embrace. 

Ah, there it is… the old hate and disappointment and white hot rage. All the lies Leia Organa has told him. The half-truths she peppered in to make it all seem so right and logical. Her sentimentality that had weakened him, had had Kylo Ren forget that there was only one rule: only the strong conquer. 

His mother would have been appalled at the brutality he displayed. How in the middle of the night he'd snuck into the Knight’s room and smashed her in the head with a rock. She was older than he was and taller and he hit her until her chocolate colored hair was black with blood. 

She’d beaten him mercilessly for as long as he could remember ( _ two years two whole years _ ), taunting him through her faceless mask and daring him to try to lay a hand on her. 

In the back of his mind the dying voice that had been Ben Organa-Solo whispered that his mother would have been glad if he suffered abuse from one person less. 

Unconscious The Knight was deadweight and heavier than she looked as he dragged her outside to the small river that burbled nearby. The stream was the only pure thing on the whole wretched planet, save for Kylo's hatred, but the water wouldn’t stay like this for long. 

For all her cruelty, Kylo hadn't really wanted to kill her. That would have been too good for her, too easy. Instead he pushed her head underwater until she sputtered into consciousness and he decided to have some fun.

“Who's kissing death now?” Kylo had growled, her nails scraping and digging into his arms as she tried to escape. Even knowing she couldn't hear him, it made him feel better to taunt her, gave him fuel to keep his anger stoked. ( _ made it easier to be cruel show no weakness don't be a baby _ )

As her thrashing weakened he had pulled her out of the water. He had wanted her awake and aware, wanted her to know that  _ he _ had bested her. Inside him a deep and savage joy had bloomed at having her at his mercy, at seeing the blood trickle from her temple, and watching the fear infuse her expression. He wanted her to beg though. To cry like he had. 

So, he had straddled her and begun to pummel her body, no longer quite taller than him, until she stopped trying to hit back. He hadn’t stopped either when she curled her arms around her head in defense, turning away from the fury of his rage, the power that churned through him like a living current, screaming in his blood ( _ like a king like a god).  _ He had wanted more and she had been a small sacrifice to get the more that lingered just outside the reach of his fingertips as he dug them into her alluringly fragile throat. He adored how beautifully her face paled and lost color as she bucked beneath him, desperately fighting for air.

Her hips had shot upward in a grotesque parody and Kylo had grinned as he pressed harder, tendons and muscle grinding against bone. She had been making lovely little helpless noises and Kylo had leaned down to brush his lips against her smooth cheek.

_ Enough, my boy. She still has uses,  _ Snoke’s voice had sliced painfully through his mind and defiance had roared, a last hit to her body, knowing she'd be off limits after this night. He had wanted more, to break her absolutely, his head swimming with triumph.

He had bested her. Only four more to go. 

***

He dreams, he knows he dreams. The warm, familiar weight of Hux curls around him and relaxes back into it.  _ This is what madness feels like _ .

 

***

He sees her, a glimpse of white robes that catch in the wind and flutter tantalizingly. Leia. His mother. ( _ not your mother, not your mother)  _ Kylo changes course to follow in the hope of catching her, instead of simply killing. If he can extract answers before gaining his revenge then it will be so much more rewarding. 

He walks at first, then he runs, his feet thumping on the ground in a heartbeat rhythm, closing in until he can almost… Kylo extends his hand to grab her and is surprised to see the chubby fingers of a toddler.  _ Mama stop, don't go,  _ he thinks hysterically and that's when he feels the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. 

Warm arms wrap around his adult body thicken the shame and embarrassment that wash over him as he remembers crying out for the bitch that bore him. He doesn't need her. Doesn't need anyone anymore. Kicking and struggling he tries to get away as the embrace becomes claustrophobic. He doesn't need comfort and least of all, he deserves it.

***

The stench of blood surrounds him, the faintly metallic tang making him vaguely nauseated. Or maybe it is the limp bodies strewn around him like so much garbage. The soft curl of a hand outstretched toward him. Sightless eyes filled with rain water. The rank smell of death wafting around him like a miasma. 

The rain soaks through his clothing until all he can feel is the clammy cold that sinks into his skin, down to the bones. He dry heaves once, before he gets himself and the need to double over and puke his guts out, under control. He caused this, he caused this and he would see it through. These people meant nothing to him. They had been so weak, barely a worthy sacrifice to start his journey to the dark side, that's why there had to be so many of them killed. 

Still ringing in the back of his mind is the girl’s terrified scream, a ululating wail that rose and rose until it seemed to shatter everything around him. Gone now.  Buried. Locked away and forgotten. 

(“Come back!”)

Kill the Jedi students. Subdue the Knights of Ren. Kylo understands: he must first master himself and rise above these strangling emotions that held him back. Then he would be strong enough. Then he'd be enough. 

The rain intensifies, becoming thick sheets of water that soak through him and limits all visibility. When it begins to slow his mother stands before him. 

“Ben, oh, Ben… what have you done?” Leia’s face is a mask of sorrow and she looks so tender that it makes bile rise in his throat when she stretches out her arms as if she wants to gather her wayward son home. 

Kylo steps back and shakes his head violently, whipping it back and forth to dislodge his thoughts. Leia Organa would never be sorrowful over his actions. She'd be angry, appalled, disappointed and would turn away from him. She'd renounce her son, he knows she would. _ She still hates her own father, after all, simply for who he was, despite the fact that he destroyed Palpatine to save her brother. _

Fury convulses through Kylo, he refuses to be the object of her false pity. All his life he knew she resented the part of him that came from his grandfather. She feared the taint that Anakin might have left in her very blood and that made her abandon her own son. No one had understood him. No one but Snoke. ( _ no, no one but Hux) _ . The only thing that could stem this madness, that could keep the anger at a manageable level was carnage.

So he goes in search of destruction. 

***

The air that brushes his skin is too warm, it’s far too oppressive. In his sanctuary, where he is alone with Hux, where he is himself it should be pure, clean, but it is nothing but a stale approximation of... 

Kylo stares at his blood covered hands, watching how it pools under his nails and congeals in the lines and grooves. More blood is rapidly cooling in chill spots on his chest and legs.  He doesn’t remember coming here. Doesn’t remember removing his clothes. 

Looking up his gaze fixes on the marble column that holds the image of Hux, absently he brushes one hand through his hair. The blood leaves the long strands heavy and tacky. The sweet, coppery reek fills his nostrils. What has he been doing? Unimportant.

The stone’s mirror like finish gleams in the low light that he prefers these days, drawing Kylo in and he follows its implacable call, folding his legs underneath him to sit cross legged on the cold floor. The man he sees sits with his shoulders sagging downward covered in gore and thicker things. It suits him. Reflects his inner monster. He grins at his reflection and it’s as sharp as a knife. 

A pair of shimmering black eyes watch him, his own, more pupil than anything. They probably shouldn’t look like this, so dark, so unendingly dark. Endless deep wells where nothing waits for him anymore at the end of this particular tunnel. Once, yes. Once there had been dreams, of greatness, of destiny, strength to grab what had been presented to him in a darkness that looked like unending promise, not unending sorrow. At one time he had been weaker, younger, with softer features and a fuller face. As he watches his reflection it transforms, his eyes become rounder and the strain around his lips softens. There is an innocence there, that he hasn’t seen reflected back at him since the first time he stepped into the citadel.  Maybe longer than that.

Young Kylo… no, Snoke hadn’t named him until he truly stood before his throne. Ben, then, who had been the one to die with his innocence and insipid notions of heroics, sacrificed at the altar of greatness and true power, just like all the other stupid students. Young Ben reaches out one bloodless hand toward him, not pleading but it still Kylo recoils. 

Slowly, as if he’s being born from the reflection, the vision pulls himself into being until he and his older self kneel eye to eye. His body is young and unformed; the strength he has now is only hinted at in Ben’s lanky frame, with limbs that seem too long, too thin, shoulders still bony and slim and eyes a tad too large for his face. There is a curious beauty to him that is coltish and primitive, something Kylo has long lost.

Ben crawls forward, keeping himself on level with Kylo, bowing low to show he is no threat. It had taken him a while to get rid of that, of hiding his height, making himself seem insignificant. Long after his induction and trials, maybe as late as his brutal breaking down of the fourth knight. Kylo had stood, shoulders squared and stared at Snoke, leaving the man behind him whimpering in the dirt and for the first time, he had dared claim the birthright Snoke had promised him for almost a decade. Ben though, still has that, he doesn’t straighten, even as he drags his hand across Kylo’s chest in something like a caress, his fingers catching on the drying blood. Kylo bares his teeth at the boy, at himself, to no avail.

Ben scoots closer, gathers his legs beneath him so he can casually lean forward to run his fingers through Kylo’s hair, teasing out tangles and working through the blood. He doesn’t flinch away when Kylo’s hand comes up and grabs his wrist, squeezing until tendons grind together. The boy never makes a sound. In fact, he smiles at the pain. Kylo lets him go. Yes, his wires have always been a little crossed.

_ You’ll need this, _ Ben tells him meekly, smile lingering on his lips, as he pulls hair strands aside  to weave a padawan braid into his older self’s hair. Kylo’s eyes flit toward Ben’s right ear and the short braid that he’d been so proud of. Not anymore. 

“I’ve no right to it, not now,” he murmurs, his voice barely loud enough to reach Ben and rusty as dried blood. How long has it been since he’s talked to anyone? How long since he’s used his voice to do anything but scream?

Ben’s only answer is a sweet, lopsided smile. The anger comes unbidden, Kylo doesn’t think before he grabs the boy’s shoulders and shakes him until Ben goes limp and his hands slip free from Kylo’s hair. Yet he still wears that same soft and stupid smile when Kylo abruptly stops and jerks his hands away. Annoying. 

_ I know how you feel about me,  _ Ben tells him and leans forward again, his lips resting next to Kylo’s ear.  _ I know what you really want. _

Kylo’s eyes narrow and he wonders if this boy knows how close he is to annihilation. He's killed this part of him once already, doing it again will be easy. What does Ben think he’s playing at? More pain? That, he can have. Kylo tilts his head and sinks his teeth into the sharp line of Ben’s jaw where it meets his neck. He wants a scream, what he gets is a  whimper, the boy’s shoulders going soft and limp.

“And what do you think I want?” he snarls, anger slipping its leash. 

_ Hux. You see me and you wonder what he’d do with an innocent you,  _ Ben tells him coyly and his dark eyes sparkle with mischievousness. There’s a challenge there and a truth, an idea of loss and just a pinch of regret. He does wonder. Too late now, always too late. Kylo struggles to swallow around the thickness in his throat. He will never be this unbroken again.

Trying to push all thoughts from his head, his eyes are drawn to the image of Hux. The perfect face, always so hard and imposing, not softened by the full lips. Those lips... Hux would dominate this boy, use him and make him bleed and cry. Just like he deserves. They both deserve it.

Ben surprises Kylo by twining his arms around his neck just as familiar hands slide around his waist from behind. Momentarily everything is silent and white, a heartbeat of shock that overrides everything. Then he looks down, his vision blurring and wavering, to see Hux’s refined hands ghosting over his stomach, coming to a rest just below his ribs. Kylo doesn’t quite imagine the sob that escapes him, hangs heavily in the silence of the room - drip...drip...drip, he imagines, but Ben is unbroken and whole, leaning forward over Kylo’s shoulder.  There is warmth of a bare chest pressing against his shoulder blades and he knows Ben is kissing Hux. Lips slide against each other, breath mingles, gasps. He hears it. All he has to do is turn his head to see.

He can’t, though. He can’t bear to. All he can do is burn with the memory of what Hux’s teeth and tongue and mouth have reduced him too in the past. How they’ll never do that to him again.

_ He tastes like tea and whiskey, _ Ben whispers in a dreamy voice with his eyes tightly closed. His lips red and shiny and as Kylo watches, Ben’s tongue darts out and sweeps across his full bottom lip, chasing that elusive taste. This is just a dream, Kylo tells himself. Only in dreams can the dead live again.

Taking hope from that Kylo lets his own hands drift to the ones still wrapped around him and rests them on top of Hux’s. The hands are solid. Real. Warm. Kylo’s head falls forward with tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Yes. A dream. 

But one he’s determined to take advantage of.

Kylo twists his head until he sees the flash of red hair in his peripheral vision. His hands convulse, squeezing so tightly that it must hurt but Hux makes no sound. Of course. You can’t hurt the dead.

Now,  _ now _ he smells the unique scent that he identifies with Hux, cedar and brandy and exotic spices, an acute stab to his heart, more tears. They flow freely as he looks down at Hux’s pale arms and hands, smeared with dark blood wherever Kylo touched. His breath catches, his chest suddenly too tight to draw air. Hux’s arms tighten around Kylo as he struggles to twist out of his grip and away from Ben’s embrace.

They let him go and he falls, his hip impacting on the cold floor, the loss of their warmth worse than the brief sting of pain. His panicked breaths choke him, as he pushes away in desperate need of distance to see both of them, specters of pasts that he lost. Killed.

Ben grins crookedly at him; the expression is so like one that he remembers seeing on his father’s face that Kylo wants to scream. Hux, on the other hand, is as calm and pristine as Kylo expects. Bloody handprints adorn their bodies and he  likes seeing that. Physical proof of how he besmirches everything he touches, how he ruins it.

“All I bring is death,” he tells them, an apology lurking in his words.

Hux reaches for him first, “You’re the first thing that has made me want to live.”

_ You’ve kept us alive, _ Ben tells him without a trace of mockery. 

Kylo lunges at Hux and wraps his long arms around the man, burying his nose in the crook of his neck. There’s so much he wants to say but he can’t. Not now. Not to the ghost of a dead man.

_ One day you’ll be able to tell him, _ Ben says gently and drapes himself across Kylo’s back in a pale imitation of Hux’s earlier embrace. Kylo’s gaze drifts upward to see them kissing again and he thinks how lovely it looks. There is none of the usual struggle for dominance, Ben doesn’t fight as he submits himself to Hux’s mercy. The pulse in Hux’s neck throbs in invitation and Kylo follows, drinking up the shudders as his lips close over the spot,first licking, then sucking it between his teeth.  It tastes exactly as he remembers it and he moans lowly.

Ben laps at Hux’s mouth, his tongue searching hungrily to find any purchase with the more experienced man, who seems happy for now to draw forth the low noises Ben makes in the back of this throat. 

Kylo can feel them, so hot and hard, so insistent as they brand their desire against the his skin of his torso.  It's been so long since he has touched or been touched with anything akin to passion that his skin feels like it will peel back from the thought alone, set on fire by the sound of their harsh, rasping breaths. The fact that it is Hux has him shaking. 

Kylo dares not say anything, lest he interrupts them. Hux’s hand lies wrapped over Ben’s cheek, curbing the younger’s impatience with playful nips at full lips, but he never draws blood. His fingers curl against Ben’s skin, hungrily digging in, but they leave no welts. It is intoxicating how gentle Hux is with the boy. Gentleness is not how Kylo does sex and he has never bothered with intimacy. Perhaps if he had been introduced to sex in a less violent manner...

But that was neither here nor there. Right now Ben releases Hux long enough to dig his teeth into Kylo’s shoulder, drawing him away from the darkly spiraling thoughts and back into the cage of Ben and Hux’s arms. Kylo will have this, at least. 

Closing his eyes, chasing his ever elusive equilibrium he relaxes and lets his hands roam freely over the hot skin of Hux’s chest and back where he knows every scar, every bump and ridge and every spot that makes his General hum in appreciation. He allows himself to be cradled between the two as Hux’s kisses turn harsher and his fingers bite into the boy’s arms. 

Ben gasps, followed by a low whimper that sounds like pain, but is belied by the way he ruts against whatever is closest which just happens to be Kylo’s hip. 

“He’s like me, you can hurt him,” Kylo whispers into Hux’s ear, eyes fixed on his pulsing carotid artery, before he digs his teeth into the man’s earlobe.

_ He wants to be gentle, he wants to take his time. You never let him take his time,  _ Ben’s mind-voice is keening and the boy pulls away to look Kylo in the eyes.  _ He would understand. He wouldn’t think less of you for it. _

Kylo backhands him with a wordless snarl and sends him flying. For a heartbeat of silence after Ben slams into the ground nothing happens, the boy’s dark eyes fixate on Kylo with a patient look that nobody this innocent should possess, before he absently swipes at the thin trickle of blood that drips from his nose.

“That was uncalled for,” Hux reprimands, his hand clamping down painfully onto the back of Kylo's neck. It is the last straw of far too many, beginning with Hux’s death itself.

Kylo grabs him and flings him to the ground, straddling his lap as soon as Hux is on his back. He doesn’t take the time to admire the view, the faint trail of red hair that drives him mad, the freckles that dust the General’s shoulders or how he spreads his arms to dampen the fall, yes, but it looks as if he wants to welcome his lover. Kylo leans down and captures Hux’s bottom lip between his teeth before biting down viciously and sucking it into his mouth, his tongue laving over the teeth marks he left behind.

Ben comes closer the moment Kylo turns to Hux, stretching out beside them to nibble at Hux’s neck, the exact same spot, where Kylo had just left a dark bruise on that alabaster skin. While it is glaringly obvious that Ben doesn’t know what he’s doing he manifestly refuses to be left out. Kylo could almost find it endearing how at any age he is captivated by Hux. It is less amusing, though, when Hux sinks his fingers into the boy’s hair and encourages the attention. The brat is probably smirking against Hux’s pale shoulder.

“You’re here now but he’s mine,” Kylo spits out.

_ What’s yours is mine, _ Ben laughs in his mind just before he starts wiggling down and disappears from Kylo’s sight. Kylo casts a look over his shoulder when he feels soft hair tickling him and sees Ben sucking and softly biting at Hux’s thigh. The boy isn’t doing it hard enough to bruise or break the skin, but he elicits soft approving noises from Hux nonetheless.

Kylo stares, captivated by the sight of Ben’s tousled dark locks against the pale expanse of Hux skin, set of by glimmers of sun-kissed red. With a huff, Kylo maneuvers himself behind Hux, pulling his General back against his chest so he can run his hands and nails over whatever skin he can reach. The little opportunist Ben sidles between Hux’s legs and stares up at them both before boldly licking Hux from the root to the tip of his cock, wringing a moaning shudder from Hux’s body, that Kylo feels vividly against his chest, knowing that his lover is enjoying this enough for both of them. He’d do anything to please Hux. Anything at all.

“Do you want to fuck his mouth?” The question is redundant but Kylo asks it anyway. Hux always did liked to be asked. After a moment Hux nods and Kylo reaches forward to snag his fingers in the boy’s hair and pulls Ben’s head toward Hux’s waiting cock, easing his grip only when Hux places a hand on his wrist. “Easy, Ren. He’s not you.”

Ben yields beautifully under Ren’s hand, bowing his head to the task before hand with youthful enthusiasm, that makes up nicely for his lack of experience.  Kylo guides him with one hand, almost lost to the soft noises Ben’s touch and lips and the way Kylo drags his nails over his thighs and belly elicit from Hux. Red trails bloom on the skin under Ren’s nails and Hux bucks his hips up, drawing delicate gagging noises from Ben.

Eventually Hux takes pity on the boy and holds his head in place while shallowly thrusting into his mouth, Ben’s expression one of pure trust, with his hands kneading at Hux’s hips, simply to touch and not in an attempt to protect himself. Kylo wonders if he ever truly looked that young, that open and easy to read.

Hux turns his face into Kylo’s neck, gulping air into his lungs with open mouthed breaths, the hot air caressing over Ren’s skin like a physical lover’s touch. It makes him grind his own erection against the small of Hux’s back. Hux’s reaction to  _ that _ sound has Ben looking far too smug and pleased.

“Oil, Ren,” Hux grumbles between gasping breaths, his voice gravelly with lust. “Tell me you have the oil?”

The dream provides it, of course it does. Hux grabs Ben by the shoulders and drags him up his body so he can prepare him and a sharp pang of jealousy bursts in Kylo’s chest. No one bothered to care for his comfort the first time. The boy should be grateful (Kylo is grateful on his behalf, isn’t that enough?) that Hux is being so considerate. So soft. It makes something thump in Kylo’s chest, he never would have guessed that Hux could be anything else than what they've always been to each other. 

Ben squirms against Hux body, mewling helplessly, thrusting his hips in an effort to hurry him along. Kylo, for once, doesn’t mind slowing things down. This might be the only time he dreams of Hux and when this ends his lover will go back to being dead. Hux, unlike Ben, is good at following the rules, after all.

Kylo watches him, drawing in the sight of sweat glistening on his shoulders and neck, how it darkens the fine hairs on Hux’s neck. He brushes down over Hux’s arm, scratches over the muscles that twitch as he prepares Ben, the boy far beyond conscious recognition, his whole being captivated by Hux and what he does to him. Rightly so. 

When he’s ready, Hux draws Ben onto his lap, his muscles against Kylo’s chest quivering with the effort for control as he slowly impales the boy. As acutely as he can feel Hux against the whole length of his body, Kylo sees Ben’s face, turned to both his older self and his lover, as he slings his arms around Hux’s neck. He can feel Ben’s belly against his hands, the muscles shaking against the need to just move. He holds back, still, letting Hux move him in a slow, languid rhythm. Ben’s sweat gleaming chest rises with quickly, shallow gulps of air, but there is not pain on his face, only desire and longing shining through.

Seeing the purity in Ben’s face evaporates any lingering jealousy. Kylo is fiercely glad that this Ben has Hux, that one of them has a sexual awakening that is less about brutal power and more about pleasure. 

The little brat is impatient, trying to rush things along again, with his coltish legs gathered beneath him in an attempt to set a quicker pace. It’s too fast, too much, too soon for him and Kylo wraps his arms around both Hux and Ben and squeezes them to stop the boy’s frantic movements. At Ben’s whined protest from deep in his throat at being denied, Hux just chuckles and Kylo knows he’s made the right decision. Under his hands Ben’s chest heaves, whimpering with an attempt to move against Hux, who just rests against Kylo, his face turned towards his lover, adorned with a smile that Kylo, had he not known better, would have called content, almost happy. 

He wants this, he wishes, he could have given this to Hux. Himself. Unbroken. And suddenly he knows with blinding clarity what he needs. What Ben would want if the boy could think around the passion of his body. What they both need.

The cold weight of Hux’s knife is in his hand and Kylo smiles, genuine and lovely. Hux slowly thrusts upward making Ben shudder and Kylo presses the hilt into Hux’s hand, while he leans forward to sink his teeth into his shoulder. The General’s cry is a beautiful counterpoint.

“Mark him like you marked me, scar him,” Kylo whispers into Hux’s ear. The boy hears him and mewls in agreement as his thin fingers scrabble at Hux’s shoulders.

Hux hesitates, until Ben mouths ‘please’ in another wordless cry that ends with his lips on Hux’s, desperately sucking at his mouth. 

The blade flashes and Hux lightly drags the knife over the same muscle on Ben’s chest where Kylo’s scar is. It doesn’t break the skin, it barely leaves a mark but Ben throws his head back in ecstasy and grinds his erection against Hux’s stomach. Kylo understands even if Ben doesn’t - Hux wants to make sure that they boy really wants this. His lips brush over Hux’s shoulder, an open mouthed kissed breathed into the skin with words he doesn’t know he has to say that he knows Ben is safe with his lover.

Hux casts him a smile, before he shifts the knife his hand to nick the boy’s shoulder and blood flows freely. The sting of pain doesn’t do anything to ebb Ben’s enjoyment so Hux dips forward and sucks at the cut as he continues to languidly plunge into the boy. Ben releases a breathless scream and Kylo grins. Yes, they’re the same in this.

Hux pulls away and twists his upper body in an almost impossible contortion to kiss Kylo, his mouth still streaked with Ben’s blood. The sensation slams into Kylo with the power of a Force push, pleasure, so much overwhelming pleasure, a sharp flare of pain on his shoulder that already fades to the deep warmth of adrenalin. And hunger, need, the feel of Hux’ cock as it fills him, the remnants of long forgotten dreams that rotted into nightmares as the yearning for this, this  _ exactly _ , turned to agony. 

Ben’s eyes widen as he stares at Kylo, who desperately can’t stop himself from rutting against Hux’s back, chasing the already fading feelings.  

Hux drags his thumb across Ben’s clavicle with the knife still shining brightly, then, in a quick move Hux reverses the knife and rests the point near the boy’s breast bone just above the second rib high on his chest. With deliberate slowness he sinks the blade in, moving with ease through the soft skin, not quite to the bone below. Kylo mouths slowly against Hux’s neck, drawing absent minded circles with his tongue, his gaze transfixed by the display. Blood wells like shining garnets, around the gleaming blade, and spills like velvet over the boy’s skin. Smoothly, the knife truly is wickedly sharp, Hux draws it outward across Ben’s chest, creating a smooth line along the rib identical to Kylo’s. Ren’s pulse pounds in his chest, a dull roar that leaves him light-headed, perfectly mirrored in Ben’s throat. 

“What’s mine is yours,” Kylo tells Ben and the boy freezes before arching and screaming out his orgasm.

Ben goes limp, his eyes are rolling into the back of his head, caught by arms that always were stronger than they looked. Hux carefully shifts him to the floor, bending down, still moving and drawing out his own pleasure. Kylo loves how Hux’s muscles ripple as he thrusts, how even now he is careful.

He expects angry words when he bends over Hux’s back and places open-mouthed kisses on the knobs of his spine, his fingers skimming along Hux’s ribs in long, drawn out caresses. He is surprised but gratified to feel Hux shudder and moan beneath him instead. Kylo nuzzles at the base of Hux’s neck, as the first shiver wracks the man’s slim frame and he tenses up against Kylo’s body, the drawn out moan of his orgasm reverberating down the the deepest levels of his heart.

Hux doesn’t take any time to recover, he slips free from Ben and draws Kylo into a kiss that has them locked in their normal fight for dominance without missing a beat. The taste of blood lingers on Hux’s lips, a strange reminiscence of emotion, that drives Kylo to push harder at his lover’s mouth, searching hungrily for something he can’t name, but that he lost years ago.

It is forgotten when Hux’s hand wraps around his aching cock. Kylo’s head falls to Hux’s shoulder too heavy, all of a sudden as the man casually pumps, his grip just the right side of painful. So good, so right, so painfully familiar….In an embarrassingly short amount of time Kylo is tipping over the edge, coming against Hux’s hand and thigh with an aborted sigh, that is far too close to a sob.

“You always give me the best gifts,” Hux murmurs against his forehead.

Cold fear sweeps through Kylo banishing the normal lassitude that follows sex and he grips Hux to him. Now the dream will end and Kylo isn’t sure he can bear losing Hux again. It’s the cold of the grave that works shivers up his spine.

Sure enough, Kylo opens his eyes to see Hux disappearing like morning fog in full sunlight. An undignified noise wrenches from his throat as his hands reach out in a desperate attempt to hold Hux here, to keep him trapped in this dream forever. 

It’s useless, just as Kylo knew it would be and ends with his fist crashing into his thigh as hard as he can, pain the only reliable aid he has to clear his mind. He's about to hit himself again when Ben’s smaller hands stop him and pull him into a tight embrace just as a sob rips through him. It’s as if the loss is fresh and new again, not months old.

_ I know, I know. I promise you… it’ll be better soon,  _ Ben tells him with more gravitas than a fifteen-year-old should possess. Kylo wants to sink into the comfort but he jerks away and swallows the sounds he was making. He will never be at the mercy of himself or anyone else again. He is stronger than that, better than that, his ability to cry was buried with the boy in front of him.

Ben sadly shakes his head. He grabs Kylo’s hand and places his fingertips against the wound Hux cut into Ben’s chest, a perfect mirror for the stupid risk Kylo had taken, when he had gotten his own. His lips pull tight as he rubs slowly against the fresh cut, only a small measure of calm found in the memory.

The boy gives his lopsided smile and Kylo can see the sadness behind it. If he tries he could feel some measure of Ben’s sorrow, doesn’t, because it isn’t worth the effort. Ben shakes his head once more and leans in.

_ My heart is your heart, _ Ben tells him and it's so stupidly sentimental that Kylo immediately recoils from it. Too late, the boy has already wrapped his arms around him, drawing him in, until he burns right through the shell of Kylo’s being, dissolving into him and Kylo swears he feels the boy’s softheartedness sinking into his bones. He won’t return to that. He won’t. Kylo will raze the galaxy before he allows such foolishness to sway him ever again.

The floor is cold under his knees, blood drying in a disgustingly sweet smelling crust on his skin. He looks up, to the dead pair of eyes that watches him from a cold holopicture. It is not the deep disapproval that he expects to see in these features that wrenches yet another sob from his chest, a sob that turns into a raw scream, filling the sanctuary to the brim.

It is the fact that no disapproving look will come.

Ever again.

***

_ The General’s fingers brush through the tangled strands of Kylo’s hair, deftly avoiding the knots. _

_ “Oh Force…” Obi-Wan, unlike Anakin, turns away, rubbing his hand over his face and studiously avoids the sobbing mess on the bed or the way Hux’s mouth pulls tight until the cut in his lower lip bleeds again. “Tell me, you can feel him again, Anakin. You reached him at some point, didn’t you?”  _

_ “Well, I sure feel… something,” Anakin sighs, brushing his hair back, as he wants to make sure, his are not tangled like Kylo’s. “And it’s not all just screaming madness. He is hanging in there.” _

_ “Skywalker’s are stubborn, Anakin.” Obi-Wan turns, grips his friend’s shoulder, hesitates then and slides his arm around it. “Trust me, I’m an expert.” _


	4. Scaling Walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here come the warnings:  
>  
> 
> \- references to torture  
> \- references to child abuse  
> \- drug use in a medical setting
> 
> And here comes the official warning for the Problematic Dream Sex (PDS):  
> Dub-con elements, there is no real unwillingness in any of the participants, but one is not truly able to give consent and the other is less than enthusiastic. Not really dub-con, but it's supposed to be a bit uncomfortable.  
> If it's any consolation: I had to write it. 
> 
> Biggest thanks go to the best beta in the world, who actually puts up with us with the patience of a saint: [ Eridani, the wonderful ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eridani/pseuds/Eridani)

The door handle under her fingers feels cold and impersonal. Lifeless and unimportant as if there was nothing behind that door with the power to intrigue, to challenge or to kill. 

All a lie. 

GB-5601 squares her shoulders on that thought and opens the door, face closed off as best as she can manage. Which is not much. 

Inside, the private office lies in silent twilight, illumination provided by a holoscreen sunk into the wall, a flicker of the First Order logo bouncing idly over the lense. Like lazy breaths in the dark. The blanket on the couch is neatly folded, every datadisk and crystal sorted into the shelf, a lone tumbler forgotten on the otherwise impeccable desk the sole sign of disorder, stark against the datapad aligned in perfect symmetry to the desk’s edge.

She knows that the General is using the former head of the facility’s office and suite as his own, she knows he must be around somewhere, unable to leave the patient for longer periods of time. Still, Bunny about jumps out of her skin as the outer door snicks close behind her. 

She jumps again as she turns and there is nobody there. The door has an automatic closing mechanism, of course, it is very logical, but, she can’t help wishing, against everything in her, she wore her armor again. GB-5601, Callsign: Bunny, hates that armor with everything in her, but if the alternative is to deal with Kylo Ren __and__ General Hux in nothing but her off duty fatigues….

Unbidden a thought rises out of the depths of her subconscious… the thought that if she wanted to rid the Galaxy of Kylo Ren… It’s squashed without hesitation, because if there is one thing, only one thing she will never do, it is murder a defenseless man. 

Grabbing the medical bag in her hand tighter, she fights to stuff down all the unbidden thoughts that bubble up on the heel of this one. 

Somewhere deep down she already knows that this will be her last assignment, that General Hux will never allow any of them out of here with the image of him bent over Kylo Ren’s body, protecting the Knight, touching him gently. Yeah, well, that is not going to happen. 

She could kill them, maybe, but not now. Not yet. She can’t.

GB-5601 shakes herself and squares her shoulder again with a deep breath. “ _ _Above all, there is duty. Above all is the First Order__ ,” she whispers and crosses over to the door that sits to the left, hidden behind a com and entertainment console. 

The rug swallows the sound of her heavy boots, a perfect set-up for an assassin actually and the audacity, the idiocy of it is mindblowing. Details like this only serve to show that nobody thought of security risks when planning the facility, past the fact that the prisoner’s only way of escape was to jump into the gorge behind the cliff. Doctors... more conscious of luxury than they had been for all the gigantic gaps in their safety. Only one of them is still alive to regret it and for once Bunny doesn’t find it in her to pity him. 

Not with the state that they had found Kylo Ren in. 

Bunny’s hand is already reaching to open the bedroom door, but she pauses, follows the curious trail of thought to its logical conclusion. Kylo Ren is a patient. He is wounded, lost and in terrible pain and she… cares for that. Splendid. 

Flipside is right, she is a liability. Here is the most dangerous creature in the Galaxy, a man with no logic, with no regard for order or command and her heart decides he needs to be protected. She truly is the most useless Stormtrooper the Order has.

Pushing open the bedroom door with a sigh, Bunny stuffs the thoughts into the farthest corner of her mind. It is pointless, anyways, caring for Kylo Ren is Hux’s job. Bunny only supplies the background knowledge, prepares the medication and explains the holovids the General had been staring at since their arrival. And even then everything is vetted and double checked by a doctor on the Finalizer. 

Most of the ‘treatment protocols’ had been beyond her knowledge until the General had pulled strings with Captain Phasma to get her access to more specialised learning materials. Bunny spent three days reading, the sound of the holovids her backdrop - the horrifying screams, the sound of beatings, the cackle of electricity - as the General’s stark eyes watched everything, only pausing long enough to fill his brandy glass from the head physician’s stash. He had gone through two bottles. 

Another thing Bunny shouldn’t have watched if she wanted to feed the childish hope that usefulness would save her and her unit. It wouldn’t probably, but it had saved Kylo Ren, alerting her just in time what the abrupt withdrawal of the psychotropic drugs would do. 

And that is why she stands here, hand resting on yet another door handle without daring to walk. Well, she still is a Stormtrooper and this still is her duty and the darkness in that bedroom holds nothing more horrifying than watching Hux watch Kylo Ren being tortured.

Said bedroom lies in darkness. A big bed takes up half of it, a luxury with an iron frame, just strong enough to hold a Knight of Ren when he goes berserk.

When she finally gathers her courage and moves, the light skirts around her, bisecting the room in vivid symbolism. On one side, Kylo Ren lies on the the bed, silent for once, the dark drawn around him like a blanket, impenetrable past a disconcerting image of his pale hand and the handcuff that tethers it to the bed. A bandage holds in place a port and three cannulas, paper white skin marred by bruises and the pinprick wounds of the ports he had already ripped out. 

Her patient. He looks so young in sleep, the untamed black hair hiding a face that seems too big, too peculiar. His vulnerability hides a terrible violence, prone to sudden, unpredictable rages, nightmares, hallucinations and, despite the fact that his body is still swimming with suppressants, able to drag a man across the room if he gets only angry enough.

With a shake of her head Bunny takes that last step that will bring her into the room, laughing silently at all those thoughts of utmost importance in her head tonight. She is only here to prepare the injectors for the General, nothing more, she thinks and is stopped by the sudden concentrated flare of a laser pointer and the corresponding dot that appears exactly above her heart. 

Freezing, she slowly raises her hands to her side, the bag still clutched in her right. Out of her messy mind rises yet another unbidden memory, this time of Hux and how he hadn’t missed a single shot, had not once fallen out of formation, had killed with enough skill to impress the notoriously unhappy SW-1120.

***

AS DG-1515 jogged off, he left Hux with only two faceless troopers, their designations forgotten in face of the battered form of Kylo Ren. 

There was a coldness in his gut that couldn’t be assuaged. No matter how hard he tried, it only had made his anger flare and burn hotter, his mind scramble for explanations, any reason for Snoke to take his prized Knight and turn him into so much useless meat. What purpose could that have served in the Supreme Leader’s plans. How could ruining Kylo Ren possibly forward Snoke’s cause?

It all had led back to what Hux had discovered following the trail to Ren, an answer too wrong to fathom, yet the only explanation left:

Snoke had no care for the First Order or the Knights of Ren. Both were expendable entities for whatever his real purposes were, plans too well hidden for Hux to discover and most likely undocumented. 

But Hux had not been raised to be expendable. He had been cultivated to be a leader for a new age, expected to take his place as a sovereign to unite the galaxy.

“You two, move these bodies so they don’t block the medic when she gets here,” Hux ordered gruffly and gave a desultory wave at the dead still sprawling on the floor, expecting instant compliance. The troopers didn’t disappoint. 

After the floor had been cleared Hux had undone the restraint on Kylo’s right hand. To check his pulse, he had told himself, though he could see it beating strong in Ren’s throat. It had been as good an excuse as any to gently feather his fingertips over the pinpricks that marred the skin near the bend of Kylo’s arm. How much they had had to go through to contain Ren. So much potential being buried under drugs and abuse. 

Hux hadn’t expected the flutter of panic in his gut, the thought of… had this been done because of him? Had Snoke found out they were fucking and chosen to punish Kylo? The idea had seemed farfetched and yet it made about as much sense as anything else. 

Guilt had followed hard on the heels of these thoughts. Who was he to question the Supreme Leader’s plans? What did he know of the Force?

__“You are not to question a superior!” “Yes, sir!” Cold water swirled around his legs, slowly freezing his muscles until he couldn’t possibly have bent his knees, even had he been ordered to._ _

__“You will execute your orders!” “Yes, sir.” The leather strap landed wet and heavy on his shoulders, but by then he had been too far gone to care or notice, his fingers stretched in perfect posture along an imaginary pant’s seam._ _

__“Drop into push-ups, soldier.” “Yes, sir.” He fell forward like a stone, the pebbled floor of the mountain creek near his family’s holiday retreat not made for human limbs. Didn’t matter._ _

Above all, there is duty. Above all is the First Order.

__“One,” Brendol Hux Sr. counted. Maybe, BH-1205 thought, if he were good, Commandant Hux would forgive his stupid question and he’d get dessert later._ _

Hux snorted, stooped over Kylo Ren’s body to get a closer look at the head wound. His father hadn’t indulged in weaknesses like forgiveness. 

Hux didn’t see the half open eyes, nor did he expect Kylo Ren to lunge.

Pain bloomed, before Hux registered the movement. 

He had been too close to evade, barely able to jerk back his head before Kylo’s forehead connected with his chin. Only as the sweet coppery taste of blood already flooded his mouth did he recoil, retreated to a safe distance from Ren for both their sakes.

For a moment the instinct to lash out almost overwhelmed him, only his father’s voice holding him back with an unwelcome reminder that only an unthinking animal couldn’t control itself. Pushing back the urge to strike into retreat under his normal veneer of civility took more strength than it should, anger already bubbling close to the surface, however misplaced it was.

Kylo’s eyes rolled behind half closed lids, scrabbling for any fixed point to latch unto, clearly not knowing who stood over him. 

“I got you, Ren. I won’t let them touch you again,” Hux murmured instead, an embarrassing thing to say in front of the troopers but Hux was becoming used to making a fool of himself for Kylo Ren. 

If he had hoped it would be soothing, he was sorely mistaken. All it did, was to agitate Ren further into a frenzy of motion and anger, his screams echoing from the walls, his emaciated, beaten body straining against the bindings that held him back. And then he abruptly stopped. 

A moment of jittery silence hung between them, one that had Hux hope he had gotten through, Ren’s laboring breaths the only sound in the room. 

Until Ren had reached out with his one free hand curled toward Hux like a claw. For another moment nothing happened, just blank silence, then imperceptibly Hux had felt himself being dragged forward. Inch by agonizing inch the Force had yanked unevenly on the cells of his body, an inexorable pull, but so weak, Hux’s body barely registered it as motion. 

The sweat had dripped from Kylo’s brow, features twisted into a mask of agitation,using all his strength and reserve to pull Hux to him.

It was grotesque how hard Kylo had to struggle to use this slight amount of the Force. Hux knew just how powerful Kylo was and seeing this made him wonder how truly hurt Ren was. Could one have the Force beaten out of them?

Hux had waited until he was close enough to touch before he reached out and splayed one hand across Kylo’s chest, his pinky almost brushed the scar. Their scar. At that, Hux had to fight down a small, possessive smile. This damnably risky man.

The Force had still held him in a weak grip, but Kylo seemed calmer. Not for long, the dark eyes had snapped open, focussing on Hux with madness swirling in their depths and for a moment Hux had been shocked into immobility.

Just long enough for Kylo to reach up and grab the IV line in his neck and slide the needle out of the vein. The movement had been executed so smoothly and with so little damage that Hux had to wonder how many times Kylo had yanked his line out before they restrained him. 

More than once, with the way Kylo had wielded the silver needle like a blade and plunged it into the hand Hux had on his chest. The faint heat of blood splattered against Hux’s face had been more Kylo’s than his own, but the needle had torn the thin skin and gouged through flesh before Hux had been able to struggle free of the Force grip. 

That he had at all had been a miracle and one he is grateful for. One trooper managed to have the presence of mind to bolt forward, capture Kylo’s arm and slam it down against the interrogation chair. With practiced deftness he had secured Kylo to the chair before turning toward Hux.

“Are you in need of medical attention, sir?”

“I’m fine. Get that damn medic in here for him,” 

At the sound of his voice Kylo had started to scream, a wordless howl that reverberated in the small room. He began to thrash, jackknifing his entire body in a futile effort to get free. Spit foamed over his lips, turning first pink, then red. His screams sent it flying, dripping down Ren’s chin, as his wide blown, bloodshot eyes locked on Hux.

“Do you think that this will save you? Spare you?” he croaked, blood bubbling on his lips. “Showing his face will only remind me how utterly delicious it is to skin a man alive.” 

Their eye contact didn’t break as Ren slammed his head against the headrest, arching his back into the restrains with an animalistic yell, stemming his whole body against the shackles that held his wrists. The skin on his hands and lower arms was already blue and raw, only now fresh blood began to run. In an uncharacteristic show of emotion Hux cussed violently, before he rushed forward and grabbed Ren’s forehead in an attempt to keep him down. 

Both troopers came to his aid after a moment of uncertainty, leaning on Ren’s upper body. For whatever good it did them. Kylo Ren was fueled by emotions and he couldn’t get more emotional than this. Hux wanted to call them back already when the door was pushed open and GB-5601 ran in, her medkit already open in her hand.. With quick efficiency she pulled out a sedative and added yet another pinprick to Kylo’s arm.

Kylo’s eyes never moved off Hux and Hux never looked away. He saw the rage soften into pain, only to be washed away by tears, Ren’s lips forming a soundless “sorry” as he limply fell into silent oblivion.

“Everyone get the hell out so I can work!” GB-5601 demanded and the others quietly started to move toward the hallway, leaving the glass chamber mostly empty. Hux, however, remained. If she thought he would leave before he knew Kylo’s prognosis, this trooper is sorely mistaken.

***

The stormtrooper still stands in the door, red dot hovering over her heart. So, yes, he should either shoot, or not. Some days the decision is harder to make than others, so many factors to weigh in, battle between risk assessment and the medical care Ren desperately needed.

Hux doesn’t need to hear her voice. 

GB-5601’s silhouette alone sets her apart from the others in her unit. Curvaceous where they are nothing but bulk and muscle, but although she appears soft, she stands and holds the heavy medical bag with one hand and when Hux checks, her arm doesn’t quiver. 

“Sir,” she whispers, “it is time for his shots.”

Hux drains the glass in his hand with enough force to hit his teeth, dropping it to the rug with a sneer of disgust when it’s empty. 

All around him the air is saturated with the sudden sharp sting of alcohol and it’s only the second glass tonight. That’s not even a fraction of the two bottles he had drained to mellow the sting of the holos and neither is it a reprieve he really deserves. 

He really should have been faster. GB-5601 doesn’t see him flinch in the darkness,his eyes fixed on his erstwhile partner.

It’s time to get a grip, to drag himself and the First Order out of the mess that Snoke made, if only for the hope of pulling Kylo Ren along. 

“Light 60%.” Hux voice is sharp and precise as he uncrosses his legs and stands from the armchair. The gun safety goes back on, to a faint shudder of Flipside’s medic. DG-1515, comes the immediate correction in his mind, but frankly, Hux is past caring. 

For now the only signs of who he is, are the precisely combed hair and the absolutely clean shave he forces himself to retain. 

Other than that, the man wearing light fatigues and a standard issued shirt is BH-1205. Stormtrooper, not General. Possible traitor and the man who wants to rip Snoke apart with his bare hands. 

But GB-5601 doesn’t need to know any of that. It is enough that her gaze flicks away from his as he walks around the bed with a soldier’s steps and bare feet, not giving heed to the emaciated body on it.

She is the one to prepare the shots he insists on administering himself for now five nights in a row. She is the one who sees his fingers linger on the tiny wounds on Ren’s skin, rubbing in slow caressing motions until the sluggish bleeding stops. 

“Let’s get to it then,” he says and stops in front of her until she cannot avoid his gaze anymore.

“Sir.” Her eyes brush his for no longer than a second, flit to Kylo Ren, who is still and deeply out of it for once. Then, in an admirable act of bravery, she turns to her medical bag, her back to Hux. 

***

The words are blurring again, now long past midnight and the only time he can actually get some work done. 

He needs to finish the new report on Kylo’s “treatment progress” then send it off to Dr. Lona to fill in the medical blanks. 

It’s imperative that they keep up the front for Snoke, but no matter how many mental tricks Hux tries to employ on himself, the lies just won’t flow. 

In front of him the datapad still shows a report from six weeks ago. Electroshocks, sensory deprivation, more drugs. How they finally achieved a minor breakthrough in the hallucinations… What they wanted to achieve remains a mystery to Hux and neither Kalona nor a programming specialist that Phasma pulled out of her back pocket could give any insight other than: they probably ran a mental simulation and it got out of hand. The drug levels are past unsafe and in combination with strong Force suppressants they are close to insane. 

The funny thing is, if anything in this is even remotely funny, Hux doesn’t need to understand what they tried to do. He can copy the false positive language in his sleep by now, throw in phrases that speak of an imminent success, yet never so much that it’d be expected. Like a politician. There has been no real break through since they basically broke Kylo Ren four weeks ago with the idea that Brendol Hux II. had been shot and killed in action. Shot and killed __in his stead__.

That had received the proper emotional response, to Hux’s ongoing astonishment, but nobody had taken into account that Kylo Ren was Kylo Ren and he never contented himself with a proper response if he could go completely over the edge. 

Or, more likely, they had overdosed him and not even his Force supported organism could deal with that so soon after the severe injuries he’d received on Starkiller. 

They had tried to bring him under control again, more electroshock, beatings, torture. They had lowered the dosage, which had reactivated his access to the Force and it had gotten unpleasant for all involved. They had starved him and tried to switch drugs. 

And they had written faithful reports to Snoke’s citadel every three days. A duty that is now Hux’s. 

The eye in the freezer is still good and it will keep another two weeks, but with the slow pace of Ren’s recovery, Hux’ll have to remove the man’s other eye as well at some point. The smile that crosses his lips comes with a faint reminder that he should be above petty cruelty and revenge, but he is a bit too fond of his visits to the basement to keep up that lie at present. 

He can’t even fault himself, with Ren behind the bedroom door, chained to the bed in deep unconsciousness. He’d be experiencing a life without Hux, conquer the galaxy and rage through planets, waging a war that ripped him apart from inside. Kylo Ren wasn’t made for war, or rather in the cruelest paradox, he was. A weapon honed and polished, with a core too warm, too soft, to withstand the constant bludgeons of his own use. 

He held up the pretense just fine, but one had only needed to take one look at the bloody, broken mess of a man that Starkiller had left behind, hidden away in his quarters to choke back muted sobs at the thought of his father, to know that something had broken in him. Again. 

Keeping Kylo Ren together while the worst of his injuries mended had given Hux a much needed fixpoint to hold onto when his own world had just crashed, but it had also given him insights nobody should possess about the Master of the Knights or Ren.

Kylo simply cared far too much. Maybe that was what Snoke had tried to beat out of him. 

Hux wouldn’t know, all he knew was that Kylo, as his system worked through the six hour dosage, would resurface, more aware, more alert and in even more pain. Nightmares, delirium, screaming for hours with Hux’s touch the only thing to calm him. 

In the silence of the office with the sheer cliff and a forest of crystal in his back, Hux can imagine that it’s possible to save something of Kylo Ren. 

He looks down onto his hands, the soft lines and impeccably kept fingernails, much less calloused than one would expect of a man who knows his way around a gun so well. This too is camouflage, the result of scented oil worked into his fingers when he is alone. Just as much an expression of his projected personality as his hair is. But there is more. 

These hand, so pale against the faux wroshyr finish of the desk, are the only ones able to calm Ren. He reacts to them, like a child might to its mother’s touch, though that is an incorrect analogy and a lie, too. Hux wouldn’t know what children do at their mother’s touch. 

Still, he can’t help the sad smile as he watches his fingers curl. The way Ren reacts to him, to his voice… this voice and these hands gave the order to kill billions of people and Ren turns to it as if they are the only life affirming thing in his existence. 

They are, Hux thinks and yet again wants to get up and walk down into the basement. 

He opens the uppermost desk drawer, the one where his knuckle wraps lie. He took to using them, after Bunny - GB-5601, why in Emperor’s name is that so hard to remember- after GB-5601 asked him to protect himself against injury. Now, the blood on his hands is never his. 

The cloth is soft under his fingers as he strokes along the fine weave, the smile on his lips vicious and raw. But not now. He needs to stay close to Ren. They haven’t yet had chance to find out how the lower dosage affects Ren’s delirium and either way, Hux doesn’t want to go. Not for something that petty. 

Maybe he’ll sleep for once, let his body claim the rest it thinks it needs. 

***

Hux thought that finding Kylo would make the dreams stop, that his subconscious would lie quiet now that he knows Kylo is safe. Well, as safe as he can be after surviving torture that would have broken a lesser man and having had his reality splintered to a warped mirror of what it should have been. Yet, while his dreams of Kylo had softened and become almost ephemeral, they persisted.

Hux jolts out of a fitful rest, his heart tripping in his chest, a crick in his neck from sleeping on folded arms on the desk. The datapad glows softly in the dark, the report still active on the screen.

He rubs his face with a groan, half asleep, and brushes his fingers through his hair, his fingernails catching on his scalp. It does nothing to disperse the dream pictures, still vividly imprinted on the back of his eyelids... 

His hands sunken deep into Kylo’s chest, fingers wrapped around Ren’s beating heart. Living heat that had traveled up his hands from being encased in the cavity of flesh. The whispery, slithery sound the heart had made against palms stained bright red. His knuckles brushing against the oddly spongy lungs that cradled around his hands as if Ren’s body was accepting him.

A shudder flows through Hux disrupting the papers and a half-full tumbler of brandy on the desk. He squints morosely at the chronometer before scrubbing his hand through his hair again. As his fingers touch the strands he jerks them away expecting them to be coated in blood. There isn’t any. Of course there isn’t. He shouldn’t be letting the dreams get to him like this. Unable to shake the malaise, Hux pushes away from the desk and heads to the sumptuous bedroom. He won’t get any more work done anyways, so he can just as well go to bed. 

The previous tenant certainly liked luxury, everything in these quarters was overly extravagant and very expensive, from the holo unit to the furniture. Too much for Hux’s tastes although he doesn’t mind splurging on the purloined brandy or sleeping on the satin sheets. He thinks Kylo would approve as well, if he were conscious. Or sane.

Kylo lies stretched out in the center of the wide bed, still strapped down for his own safety and to protect GB-5601. The only one who seems to be truly impervious to Kylo’s rage is Hux, the scalding fury hadn’t survived past their encounter in the cell. Now, Ren turns his head into Hux’s hand and his breath and heartbeat follow his lead. It is extraordinary that anything can influence Kylo Ren like this. 

Keeping himself mere inches from Kylo, Hux curls up on the sheets and stares at his sharp profile. The bruises are finally starting to fade into a blend of sickly yellow, green, and purple. Most of the contusions have healed although Kylo will have a new set of scars from both the abuse he inflicted on himself and from the beatings. 

With caution, Hux reaches out and trails one fingertip from Kylo’s shoulder down to his wrist. He leaves his finger there, resting on the knob of Ren’s wrist bone, without looking too much into why.

He doesn’t like to admit it, but Hux takes comfort here. Just lying next to Kylo creates a warmth in Hux that he doesn’t understand and is unwilling to try to comprehend. It’s enough for now to have something like a haven where the lies he spins for Snoke are not important, where the stress and conflict of the outside world can be put aside. 

Every day they decrease the drugs, with every lowered dose Kylo becomes less manic and soon he’ll wake. Or so they theorize, both GB-5601 and Dr. Lona saying that by all rights Kylo should be moderately conscious by now yet he remains stubbornly comatose. 

And here they are again, worry and more worry. Hux slides his fingers around the scab covered mess that is Kylo’s wrist, pushing his dragging thoughts away as the tiredness floods over him in a tidal wave. He allows his eyes to slide shut in the secure knowledge that Bunny will wake him in three hours when the next shot is scheduled. 

“I killed him for you, you know? Cut out his tongue for the lies he told,” Kylo says conversationally, his face close enough that Hux can feel the breath of these first intelligible words. He lurches awake, snatching his hand back as his mind tries to understand the context of what Kylo just said.

“Who?” Hux decides to ask. 

“Hmm? Oh, Myn Graeff. Pretentious asshole. I didn’t like him and he lied about you, so I killed him,” Kylo finally responds long after Hux thought he wouldn’t. “Slowly.”

Hux does remember Graeff. Kylo wasn’t wrong about the man but he also knows that Graeff is alive and well. More of the hallucinations then. Just what were the butchers here trying to accomplish? 

“You don’t say?” Hux drawls, hoping to keep Kylo talking. It’s startling to realize that he’s missed hearing his voice.

“I dream about you,” Kylo tells him and every one of Hux’s muscles clench. “I dream you're still alive sometimes. Do you know how hard that is? I can see you and smell you and touch you and then I remember - I can’t do any of that anymore. You’re gone and I know I’m going to wake up and I don’t want to. I just want to stay in the dream forever.”

Hux can’t help himself, he has to curl closer to Ren in a bid offer comfort to a sleeping man. It’s insane, Kylo will never know he’s here. 

“I’m not dead,” it’s a ridiculous thing to say yet Hux can’t seem to stop the words.

“You are and it’s my fault,” Kylo whispers, with his head turned vaguely, blindly in Hux’s direction. Ren’s voice is almost musical, his sigh filled with contentment. “I can’t bring you back but I can meet out punishment to anyone who wronged you and bring justice to those who killed you. I’ll drag them all down to hell with me.” 

There isn’t a single thing Hux can think to say and he can only imagine what kind of hell Kylo’s mind is like right now. It’s galling to realize that there is nothing he can do to rectify this problem. He doesn’t have Kylo’s rage, there is nothing for him to outsmart, no bit of politics that will make this better. All Hux can do is harden his resolve and fall back on the same plan Kylo follows: Kill those responsible. That won’t fix what has been done to Ren but Snoke’s removal is the only concrete thing that Hux can control right now.

His heart skips a beat as Hux contends with the fact that Ren might never wake up or if he does he might not be the same man. Torture, drugs, the mental tampering and being cut off from the Force… Kylo Ren might well be broken beyond repair. It hurts, that thought, more than it should. 

To have gone through so much and not to succeed, that isn’t something Hux has much practice with. He has always resolutely pushed forward until his triumph was certain but what would he count as a win here? Ren whole and undamaged? Or could he accept a different Kylo Ren? One who might not be what Hux expects or remembers but still, somehow, fundamentally Kylo. Would he find that sufficient or would he abandon this man?

The questions churn in Hux as he realizes he doesn’t have any answers. It was much easier to plan to this moment than to move forward into uncertainty.

“Grandfather says I should learn to let go, but how can I? He says what we have is based on mutual stupidity that we mistake for hatred.” Kylo turns his gaze to Hux’s face, his big brown eyes, unfocused as they are, piercing through every defense Hux might have had, leaving a clean burnt path for Ren, when he finally asks: “ Do you hate me, Hux?”

“No,” Hux gasps out before he can process the actual question, before he realizes that it’s true. He doesn’t despise Kylo, nor does he hate him. 

He finds himself easily annoyed at the man, but he hasn’t actually hated him in a long time. Hux couldn’t pinpoint when he stopped viewing Kylo with nothing but animosity, but it has been a while ago. Neither does he have a word to quantify how he feels about Kylo Ren and that confuses and disconcerts him. 

“I don’t hate you, I wish you were still alive. I wish I could tell you,” Ren says so pitifully that Hux is drawn to the man despite himself. 

Gently angling Kylo’s head toward him, Hux slants his mouth over his. Soft lips in willing surrender ghost together as they steal each other’s breath. The kiss lacks the violence they usually share and Hux is surprised when Kylo responds with a muffled whine, licking into Hux’s mouth with an urgency that makes his heart jump.

When the kiss ends, Hux knows the answer to his inner queries - none of it matters as long as Kylo wakes up; Hux can and will deal with Kylo’s shattered pieces. If he could not, he never would have initiated this undertaking. He has risked not only his career but also his life and that of his crew for this man. 

Nothing exists in a vacuum, Snoke would take his wrath out on Hux and on the entire __Finalizer__ for its commander’s break in faith if he ever found out

If Hux can accede that he has effectively given up everything for this man, then he has no choice but to lie in the bed he made. Terrifying to know that he has placed himself in such a precarious position for nothing more than what? Human contact? 

The logical side of him knows that Kylo could be a valuable ally, if only for his Force abilities. Ren is too unstable to wholly take him seriously, to see him as anything more than a tool to be used. On the other hand, if __this__ is Snoke’s idea of training, then Ren’s precarious control is not a fault of character, but an expected reaction. 

Beyond that, the reality of the situation is that he has allowed Ren closer than any other living person, has let Kylo worm his way into his life. When did that happen? Shouldn’t he have been aware of becoming attached enough to miss Ren?

Idiotic fools, the both of them. Yes. Hux can admit that Kylo is worth the risk, even if it doesn’t make analytic sense. This is something, someone, that he wants and Hux finds he’s willing to fight for what is his. Not for gain or a goal, no discernible endgame, but the right to claim Kylo Ren in the privacy of his mind. 

If there is one thing Hux is confident of, it’s his ability to come out on top. With a sense of trepidation Hux pulls Kylo into his arms and lets himself drift off. In the hazy area between wakefulness and sleep Hux thinks he hears a softly accented, masculine voice.

__“Sometimes letting go is what sets you free.”_ _

***

“You’re looking thinner every day, General. Make sure that you care for yourself as well,” Reina chides, her face flickering faintly, courtesy to a paranoid amount of encryption and misdirection and an ion storm that happens to rage through the planetary system where the Finalizar is parked for the moment, making tracking of any signals virtually impossible. . At least once a day in their conversation his secretary tries to turn the discussion personal , the sadness in her eyes turning to faint disapproval, when Hux only response is a stare, but he isn’t a boy anymore to be moved by it.

“Just make sure that the shipping lines stay open but the pirates… let a few of them get away. We’ll need a few shuttles to go missing soon, it will be easy to blame them so we can divert at least one of them here,” Hux tells her coolly. Reina takes the rebuke for what it is, her mouth thinning slightly but she accepts the change in conversation with grace.

“Phasma has been overly enthusiastic in thinning their ranks but I’m sure she can be convinced to leave a few,” her normally polite smile morphs into something more feral with just a hint of teeth and for one second, she doesn’t look wholly human. 

“Has there been anyone questioning my absence?” Hux asks, before he can respond with a smile of his own, reminded once again that his secretary and the Captain of the Stormtroopers are more alike than it seems.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle, sir. Although we have told Chancellor Thivoor that you were suffering some… complications. He was very insistent on seeing you,” Reina sounds so abjectly apologetic that Hux has to wonder what Phasma and his secretary have done.

“Should I ask?” Hux tries for a bland tone, he knows it failed when Reina flinches slightly.

“The strain of Warloff’s that you contracted might have mutated, sir. It will keep you in quarantine for a few more weeks and has given you some swelling and a rash. We had to put someone who looked similar to you into the tank and that was the only way we could disguise him,” Reina doesn’t look apologetic now. Hux knows that they’re doing the best they can and if this keeps High Command from looking too closely at what Hux is actually doing then it’s worth it. 

“Hopefully nothing too disfiguring?” he asks with a slight lift of one eyebrow to let Reina know he’s teasing.

“You might need to wear an eye patch for a bit, sir,” she gives a girlish laugh, eyes twinkling as her smile enhances her wrinkles. 

Hux ends the holoprojection and leans back, twisting slightly so he can see into the other room and check on Kylo. The other man is quiescent, it’s been three days since they decided to remove his restraints and so far it hasn’t been a mistake. GB-5601 had argued that he might turn violent again but Hux is confident that he can deal with him in his current state. 

Other than his daily meeting with Phasma and Reina, Hux has begun sequestering himself in that damn bedroom. He’s sick of it but at least it has a large picture window overlooking the gorge. On days when the rain slows, or more rarely stops, he cracks the window to listen to the soft music of the crystal trees chiming. Hux thinks it soothes Kylo and he likes the fresh scent of rain.

With a quick stretch that makes his shoulder joints pop and crack, Hux wanders into the room to brush his fingers through Kylo’s unruly hair. It’s stiff and matted, they’ve been mostly sponge bathing him but the hair… it needs to be thoroughly cleaned. Kylo would hate that, Hux thinks, he is always so damn vain about the unruly black mop. Hux, as a person, might tend to the practical more than to adventure, but in this case, getting that taken care of is both.

The rain has slowed to a steady drizzle so Hux opens the window just enough to get a breeze. He lets his hand linger against the cool glass for a moment. The soft tinkle of the trees and vines jolts his heartbeat with a deep breath as it finds a stupid musical expression, like a smile, in his blood. Which is both embarrassingly sappy and something that Ren would probably say in one of his moments..

As if he knew Hux’s thoughts, Kylo is murmuring in his sleep, nothing loud enough to be understood but that means that the drugs are loosening their hold on him. There’s been an idea floating around in the back of Hux’s mind and he’s tempted to see how pliable Ren is in this state. Even though they’re about the same height, Kylo weighs more than Hux does; it would be awkward to try and drag him to the tub on his own.

The good doctor’s apartments have a built in bathroom off the spacious bedroom and Hux goes to fill the bath with warm water. He doesn’t know why he’s so set on doing this but it feels right to be active in regards to Kylo’s care. 

“Come on, Kylo. Let’s get you standing,” Hux tells him as he re-enters the bedroom.

It’s easier than he thought to move Ren like he’s an oversized doll. Hux pulls him into an upright position and lets his hands hover near Kylo’s shoulders, testing to see if he’ll sit up on his own. He does and Hux grins with unexpected triumph.

Although it takes some effort to turn Kylo so he’s perched on the edge of the mattress with his overgrown feet on the floor, it is manageable for one man. Ren is remarkably easy to undress but getting him upright and mobile might be a whole other level of test.?

Hux leaves Ren for a moment, hoping that the man will stay where he is, while Hux rushes to shut off the water. The tub is half full, enough to wash even someone as lanky as Ren. Hux finds Kylo exactly as he left him, the slight draught from window pushing Ren’s overly long bangs from his face. Kylo looks peaceful, his eyes trailing off into nothingness, though the dark surface hides more than just emptiness. An overly hopeful thought with no basis in facts, Hux takes heart from it, nonetheless. There are a few false starts to get Kylo upright but Hux manages. He swings one of Kylo’s long arms around his neck and shoulders, the bean pole leaning hazardously on Hux but when he starts moving, Kylo moves with him. They make their way slowly to the bathroom, the few meters feeling longer for each of Ren’s fumbling steps,.Hux’s momentum moving him more than anything else.

Hux has a bad moment trying to figure out how to wrangle Kylo into the bath, in the end he decides to simply pick him up and gracelessly dump him in. The right sleeve of his shirt is soaked but Kylo rests easily in the warm water. 

Stripping off the shirt, Hux sets to work. The tub is deep and wide and long enough for Kylo to sit, without him running the risk to slip and come under water.. He keeps the water slightly chilly as an incentive to hurry. Carefully Hux wraps a hand around Ren’s neck, nudging him backwards into the hold, a position that Ren never would allow were he aware of the situation. But he isn’t. He doesn’t protest as Hux douses his head and then moves him to lie against the backrest before working the scented shampoo through the tangled strands. The clinical task of washing Kylo Ren’s hair is interrupted soon though, when Ren tips his head back and practically purrs at the attention, twisting into the hands that work up a lather, bending and nudging until Hux gives in and scratches along Ren’s scalp. He wonders how hedonistic Ren would be if awake. 

The last of the soap is sluicing out of Ren’s hair when Hux hears the soft hiss of the door. He hadn’t realized how close it was to dosing Kylo again. Instead of his normal restlessness from the drugs wearing off, Ren is bonelessly complacent turning whichever way Hux wants him to go with a stupid little smile on his face. Quickly Hux rubs conditioner into the long dark hair, ignoring the unhappy grumble from his partner when he lets go and turns his attention to Ren’s body, soaping him up with efficiency. 

“Sir?” GB-5601 calls out as she enters the bedroom panic swinging already in that single word. 

“In here,” he calls out. She can help him lever Ren out this damn tub. By the time she nervously appears in the doorway Hux has rinsed Kylo and is in the process of trying to grapple him into a better position.

“What, oh, do you need help? Sir?” her voice is an octave higher than normal, unbecoming of a First Order Stormtrooper and here Hux had been thinking she was losing some of her fear of him. It must be surprise at the scene they present.

“Just keep his body upright while I pull him out of here,” Hux growls as Kylo flops against him. If the man weren’t drugged beyond recognition Hux would think he was doing this on purpose. He doesn’t put it past him either way. 

GB-5601 sidles over to the tub and grasps Kylo’s shoulders, worry pinching her mouth into a thin line.Now that she’s holding him in place, Hux can get his arms in the correct position to heave Kylo out of the tub.

“You’d better stand up, you bastard,” Hux hisses at him as he situates Kylo to take his own weight.

“Sir? How did you get him in here?” she asks as color flames into her cheeks, presumably at being presented with a naked Kylo Ren.

“By making him walk, he’s just lazy after being pampered,” he tells her, fighting not to cuss. An officer doesn’t need to cuss, not even when saddled with an overgrown, floppy murderous child named Kylo Ren. 

GB-5601 nods, as if what he’s saying makes perfect sense even though Hux gets the feeling that she’s humoring him. He tries not to let that spark his temper, with mixed results.

After a perfunctory rub down with a towel, he has GB-5601 help him half drag Kylo back to bed. The sheets are rumpled and Hux berates himself for not thinking to prepare for Kylo’s return earlier. 

“If you’d like, sir, I can change the bedding. I’ll be quick,” GB-5601 offers, looking up at him through her lashes. Hux nods his agreement and shifts Kylo’s weight so the man is leaning heavily against him. She wasn’t lying, she manages to strip the bed and remake it with fresh sheets in record time, her movements precise and controlled, her work impeccable to Hux’s appreciation. Still, by the time she’s finished Kylo has buried close to Hux’s side, his skin covered in goose flesh from the window’s chill air.

Unceremoniously Hux dumps Ren into the bed, pulling the thin sheet up over his body. He’ll clothe Kylo later, right now he’s more concerned with changing his own attire. His pants are uncomfortably wet in patches, both from pulling Kylo from the tub and having the man hanging on him. 

“Thank you for help, GB-5601. If you don’t mind preparing his dose in the other room?” Hux hints, hoping she’ll leave so he can change in peace.

“Yes, sir. You can, um, you can call me Bunny,” she manages to spit out, her cheeks flushing bright red again, yet another case who should never take of the helmet. It’s as if Ren is infectious, both on his ability to control his face and his insolence.

“Bunny?” Hux asks, his eyebrows raising. He has never encouraged informality and wonders why she is attempting it now.

“It’s, well, it’s what everyone in the squadron calls me,” she seems to realize her mistake right away but she doesn’t backpedal as expected. It earns her some respect in Hux’s eyes. 

He knows that members of the squad have been trying to integrate his presence into their unit, presumably in a bid to better understand him. He supposes it must be having an effect because by now he’s learned most of their callsigns even though he refuses to use any of them. 

If he were prone to introspection Hux might have pondered why it was SW-1120 who had warmed to him first. That Stormtrooper had been reconditioned three times for disregard of authority before he had been sent to Flipside’s unit and turned into an apparent model soldier, yet he and Hux got along with very few words and shared competitiveness 

It had started with a discussion about an illegal - republican - scope that Eleven Twenty had been taking apart at the table in the communal kitchen one night when Hux had gone for caf. How, Hux didn’t quite remember, but they had ended side by side, a regulation model scope taken apart in front of them in addition and marked down improvements. 

Some time before dawn they had bid their good nights with as much cordiality as their hellos had been and never mentioned it again, but that had been the dividing line between these men and women tolerating him and having them try to draw him into their group. 

“I know what they call you,” Hux tells her flatly and watches her shoulders droop and her face fall. A complicated range of emotions cross over her features before Hux decides to take pity on her. He’ll say almost anything in order to get out of these wet pants. “The dose, Bunny?”

The way her face lights up when he uses her ‘name’, his urge to smile in response leaves Hux disgusted with himself. As if it matters if they like him. 

He shouldn’t have to pander to these troopers. But it does get her to leave so he can finally strip out of his clothes. 

Just as he’s pulling on warm sleeping pants, Kylo starts reaching out, searching for him. Bunny, no, GB-5601 still hasn’t returned with the syringe so Hux slides onto the bed and lets Kylo wrap his arms around his waist. The clingy bastard is in the process of smashing his face into Hux’s abdomen when the door finally opens, the trooper’s steps coming to a jerking halt.. As Hux looks up he finds her standing there, staring at them as if Hux has his gun trained on her again and every breath could be her last.

Hux thinks she should be used to the stupidity that Ren displays in his sleep, this is just another permutation of that after all. Or maybe she’s surprised that Hux has his fingers threaded through the wet mop of hair teasing out snarls. Perhaps it’s just seeing Hux out of uniform, out of the standard fatigues and looking messy in the wide bed.

It takes her only a few seconds to recover her equilibrium and walk toward the bed with her normal trepidation to hold out the syringe, waiting until Hux has disentangled himself from Kylo so he can take it from her. GB-5601 says nothing as she swipes the antiseptic pad over a swath of Kylo’s forearm, knowing that Hux is paying close attention. He doesn’t need her guidance anymore with the injections, but it’s still nice to know that she intensely monitors each shot. GB-5601, oh fuck it, he really should just call her Bunny, takes her role seriously and that gives her some leeway with Hux. 

Kylo flinches with a whimper as the needle breeches his skin and Hux slowly depresses the plunger. With the dosage this low they need to make sure to get the full dose into him. There had been a few accidents back when Ren struggled more, and the resulting backlash made Hux extra careful now.

He hands the used needle back to Bunny, watches as she secures it a small container, then she takes Kylo’s pulse and checks his eyes. Hux likes how thorough and methodical she is. They’ve been at this long enough that he’s starting to know her tells. All is well with Kylo Ren though; she doesn’t have to say it - Ren is already sinking bonelessly into the bed, tension seeping out of what is left of his muscles - but Bunny gives a small smile anyway.

“Anything else, sir?” she asks but this time there is an ease to her words and body language. 

He starts to dismiss her as Kylo winds around him again, this time tangling his legs with Hux’s. GB-5601 does a good job of hiding her amusement but still Hux levels a glare at her. “My holopad is still on the desk, would you retrieve it for me?”

This is the first time he’s ever asked for anything from her and Bunny nods once a shy cast to her eyes as she turns with a bounce in her step. It’s emotionally tiring being around these people that he doesn’t know. Hux is used to being surrounded by his people, to being treated with respect but always having distance from them, the closest thing he has to acquaintances are Reina and Phasma and both know their places even if they occasionally overstep their boundaries.

As Ren settles in around him, his body heavy and warm and comforting, Hux starts going through the daily reports, making notations for Phasma and Reina while filing away information that he might need at a later date. 

He has an almost sixth sense for data that can be extrapolated and utilized. Hux is completely unaware that while he reads the fingers of his other hand are tracing complicated patterns over Kylo’s back, bumping over the scars and scabs, many of whom are new, some though have become familiar landmarks for his fingers in the last months.

He finishes the last report and he makes another memo for Phasma to reword the responses to sound like her, the High Command expects her reports until Hux is released from quarantine. There’s no way to remove himself from the bed without disturbing Ren and Hux lamentably realizes he’ll have to talk to Phasma here. He can just imagine her reaction to seeing him like this – topless and propped up in a sumptuous bed, Kylo Ren wrapped around him, his modesty barely preserved by silken sheets.

As if his thoughts summoned her, the holopad beeps with an incoming transmission. The fine tremor in his hands makes him want to bolt from the bed and make himself presentable but there’s no time for that nor it is worth the risk of upsetting Kylo. He thumbs the transmission on and some of his embarrassment evaporates as Phasma appears in her off duty uniform. Without her helmet and armor, she looks almost as undressed as Hux.

“What?” he growls at her, his discomfort making him sharper than normal.

“Comfortable, sir?” Phasma says without a hint of irony, an ability Hux envies until it’s turned on him and a level gaze is his only response.

“Your report, Captain?” Hux doesn’t mince words in an attempt to ignore the faint upward curl of her lips.

“I’ve managed to find three more Captains who are likely candidates for your program, I’m not sure the one can be trusted but I forwarded their files to you. I included the psy-tech reports as well,” she rattles off briskly. 

“We can’t afford any mistakes on this. We have seven replacements that need found before my return,” Hux grinds his teeth. Making sure that the other ships of the fleet are mostly loyal to him is the number one priority at this point. The First Order operates 80% from their fleet and thanks to the glaring short sightedness of the New Republic, said fleet is the reigning power in the Galaxy. There is nothing Snoke could throw at them if sabotage from within the command structure is eliminated. “We also need ways to replace them without raising suspicions.”

“Assassination is still an option,” Phasma always suggests killing them, it’s her only joke.

“Wholesale slaughter won’t solve the problem,” he tells her with a sigh.

“But you have to admit it’s effective,” there’s a wheedling tone to her voice that makes Hux suppress a smile. She’s not wrong but he refuses to encourage her.

“We’re looking for subtlety, remember?”

“You always want to do things the hard way. All right, General, we’ll follow your plan. There are a few lateral promotions that can be arranged to out of the way systems, a couple can be demoted, and maybe one or two judicious accidents. I will take care of the accidents and use your contacts for the rest? That should clear the way for the right people to be situated in key positions. If you have the time, you might try winning at least one of them over to your side – Captain Verrik could be useful. I’ve forwarded her intel as well,” Phasma is back to business much to Hux’s relief. Even though her projection is tiny, Hux thinks he sees her dart a glance at the sleeping Kylo who has managed to wedge himself most of the way onto Hux’s lap.

“You know I like you better when you use your brain, Phasma,” he tells her in lieu of praise. Her eyes narrow in humor and she makes a more pointed glance at the man on Hux’s lap.

“How is he, sir?” Phasma dares. She almost never inquires about Ren, Hux assumes that she and Reina gossip among themselves about Ren’s progress.

“He’s… healing, I think. It might be good that Reina extended our timetable,” he admits. The silence becomes protracted as neither one knows what to say. Ren shifts himself closer and even though Phasma watches Hux rests his free hand on Kylo’s back.

“Permission to speak freely?” Hux hears the weariness in her voice.

“Granted.”

“You may need to leave him behind, sir. Exposing yourself further may prove detrimental and you need to take into consideration that it’s time to cut your losses,” Phasma tells him with her calm stoicism. Hux has been avoiding this conclusion, to know that Phasma has reached it as well is a blow. He clenches his hand against Kylo’s skin, his nails catching on the half healed scars.

“I have time yet. If I have to, I will,” even he can hear the bargaining in his tone. 

“This isn’t like you, sir. The First Order needs you more than Ren does, don’t let this attachment blind you in that,” Phasma never pulls her punches even when her target is a superior officer.

“Captain, that may be overstepping the boundaries of the freedom of speech I gave you. But I hear you and I’ll be back before the deadline, with or without Ren,” he tells her truthfully. The beginning of a plan is forming his head, Hux thinks he knows how he may turn this mess to his advantage, if - when - Kylo Ren wakes up

“Very good, sir. I’ll review what you’ve sent and submit the necessary reports. My recommendation for recruiting Verrik stands, she’s solid,” Phasma ends the communication before Hux. 

He sets aside the pad while mulling over Phasma’s words. Yes; once Ren wakes (he will, Hux refuses any other option) they’ll have to discuss this stratagem, check it for flaws, and test its durability. Tricking Snoke will be the hard part but if Ren comes out of this even mostly intact Hux thinks they might be capable of pulling this off.

He can’t go back, presenting Ren as if nothing happened in the hope that Snoke will be glad to have his apprentice back. Because Snoke will not be getting his apprentice back. Hux is a good soldier and a good soldier will follow his orders to his death without hesitation, but Hux is also an officer and a commander of the First Order and as such he has a duty to his own men. Ren is his, command structure be damned, Hux has claimed him.

***

By now the dreams have almost become a staple in his life, a part of his existence that is just there, unquestioned. The grey, sand-covered desert planes under a star studded night sky do not surprise him. Nothing astonishes him anymore, frankly, though he wonders why Kylo dreams of Jakku of all places. 

“Not Jakku,” is the answer from a silky, youthful voice with an unmistakable core accent and perfect pronunciation. So much so, in fact that Hux feels a faint pang of jealousy for all the opportunities the owner of such a voice must have had in life. It turns out to belong to a young man, bearded, pale eyes sparkling beneath a brown hooded robe. “Tattooine…,” he answers Hux’s unspoken question with a meaning heavy sigh.

“Tattoo...wait, what?” Hux turns to look over the dunes once more, and indeed, the characteristic shipwrecks that litter Jakku are missing entirely. 

Tattooine though, is even more history laden. Home to not one, but two Skywalkers. And it says good things about Hux’s attention to detail, or bad things about his level of idiocy where Kylo Ren is concerned, that he actually had studied up on that particular subject. 

The man opposite him smiles, as if he followed that train of thought and found the endpoint somewhat amusing. Not solely at Hux’s expense 

“Yes, Skywalkers tend to have that effect, General. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I…” Hux breaks off, musters the man. Dark brown robes, lighter colored tunic underneath. The classic obi/belt combination the Jedi had worn, including a circular tube of silvery, yet very skeletal design. A weapon stripped down to its bare necessities, no longer in need of superfluous adornments or petty wraps to make it more appealing. 

“You are Obi-Wan Kenobi.” Surprise floods his blood, both at the realization and the smile that curves the Jedi’s mouth. 

“I must admit, General, I am impressed,” Kenobi flips back the hood of his robe and reveals sand colored hair that blends perfectly with the desolate background. He looks far too young, having been in his sixties when he died by Vader’s hand. This man in front of Hux is barely older than thirty. “Well, Hux, I am indeed dead and as sad as that may be, it comes with certain advantages.” 

He is smiling in earnest now, not commenting on the fact that Hux hadn’t spoken. “Though we haven’t met to discuss my ability to not age, have we? You have questions, General.” 

“Yes,” Hux says after pondering for a few minutes. “I do.” 

Kenobi sits and pats the boulder on his left, waiting for Hux to sit before he turns to him, attentive, his attractive face open, welcoming Hux’s words and it becomes clear why they had called this man the negotiator, with or without Force abilities. He is good.

“How do I hide Ren from Snoke?” Hux could ask question about ‘Why?’ ‘Why like this’ ‘Are you real?’ but none of them are important at this moment in time. Wether his subconscious decides to take the form of Obi-Wan Kenobi or if Obi-Wan Kenobi’s deceased form chose to visit him, it doesn’t really matter, not if Snoke takes Kylo Ren again. 

Kenobi watches Hux, a small twinkling in his eyes. His gaze appraising the man in front of him, until he nods, content with what he finds. Whatever that may be. Hux will not ask. 

“As long as his Force abilities are suppressed, he’ll be safe, I think,” the Jedi finally says. “He will be as dark to Snoke, as he is to us.” 

“But we can’t keep him that way. We might just as well burn his eyes out. Worse actually.” Hux ponders, then shakes his head. “And he isn’t as cut off, as he should be. He Force dragged me across the room right at the beginning, so…”

“So…” Kenobi smiles. “We will shield him.”

“How. How can I shield him from something I can’t even perceive, Kenobi?” Hux doesn’t yell. He never yells when sharply clipped words work just as well, better even. 

“Us. Not you, Hux. You are stronger than most, but not that strong. Strong enough to enable us to talk to you. Maybe even to learn to use more than your bodily senses, but this isn’t your battlefield. It will never be.” 

“Us?” Hux asks, breaking through the strange complacentness of dreams enough to doubt. There is something he should know, some connection he should make, but he is desperately out of his depth here, never really prone to dreams, once he had been out of his childhood and basic training. 

And now he can’t seem to stop. 

“Me and Anakin-”

“Skywalker… Really?!” 

Hux scoffs and stands, pushing violently away from the rock, from everything that Kenobi represents. A childish mysticism of benevolent Jedi, that hadn’t even been benevolent back when they were real. And now? He is saddled with an insane man that doesn’t know delirium from reality and in his dreams murders millions to silence the one ghost he can’t silence… because Hux is not dead. 

“I need to protect him. I can’t let my subconscious undermine that. I mustn’t.”

Turning he finds Kenobi’s gaze and again this weird little smile lurks in the corners of his mouth. 

“I want to tell you a secret, General, about how my Master Qui-Gon Jin mastered a technique unheard of, preserving his spirit even after Darth Maul had taken his life.” 

Hux tilts his head, furrowing his brow in disbelief and finally shakes his head when they thought filters through. “This is not possible.”

“Ah, young man,” Kenobi laughs, not mean, just ...joyful almost, as if he were in possession of a beautiful secret and it was his to share alone. “How do you think we trained Luke? Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. Not the blunt instrument, the cheap weapon Snoke wants Ben to be.”

He stands as well, carefully brushes down his robe and joins Hux to looks out over the desert, the silver plains ephemeral shadows in the night’s twilight. He used Ren’s other name, the one Snoke had forbidden by threat of execution, with familiar ease and maybe that comes with growing up as a Skywalker, ghosts knowing your name….

“Can you accept it as true, Hux? That we will protect one of our own from Snoke where we so blatantly failed to do so before?”

“Your own?” Hux snorts. “Are we going to get into a discussion about how he is mine?”

“No.” Kenobi laughs. “That is for Ben to decide.”

Hux rubs his face, remembers Ren’s beating heart in his fingers, the acceptance, the trust, the blood. One wrong move and he’d killed him. 

“But you haven’t, Hux. You can’t do this alone, this path you have stepped upon is too fraught with danger, with temptations and false turns,” Kenobi’s hand feels warm on his shoulder, with surprising weight to it, even if he were a living thing. 

“This is not just your fate, or Ben’s to be considered. This is your vision and the whole Galaxy in balance.”

“I tipped that balance already.” Hux turns his head, a cynical huff his true response. “You wouldn’t dirty your hands with one such as I.” Shaking off the hand is harder than expected. Weakness. 

“Anakin Skywalker murdered not just the Jedi order, my friends and me, he went into the creche and singlehandedly slew every child in there. Each under ten years old, Hux,” Kenobi says, each of his words a minor punch. “The Force doesn’t work like this. With… sympathy or popularity. 20 Billion dead people are not brought back to life, because we let another 500 Billion die. And that will happen, if we don’t keep Ben safe and away from Snoke’s clutches. If we don’t rid this Galaxy of the monster that lurks at its edges!” 

“Ben, yes? But not Kylo Ren.”

“Ben never ceased to exist, General. Until now, Snoke never truly tried to get rid of him. He just plastered a fake veneer on top and forced everybody to forget who Kylo Ren was, because he needed that wounded boy below to keep his tool complacent.”

They don’t look at each other, both their gazes fixed steadfastly onto non-existing landmark’s, both their hands clutched into each other, HUx’s behind his back in the military stance that has been natural for him since he learned to stand, Kenobi’s shoved into his sleeves, just as natural for him probably. 

“For all his faults,” Kenobi sighs after a few thoughts. “Ben is actually too strong to be broken and reformed in another’s image. His power comes from the light and even though his way of accessing them through an overabundance of emotion is not the Jedi way, these emotions are compassion, love, Hux, and Snoke had to break him down to fear and rage since Ben was a toddler to get anything else.” 

Hux pushes his hands through his hair as he turns away, emotion scalding through him in a primal wave, unfamiliar and unwelcome and he screams it all, frustration, fury, helplessness just for good measure, out into the desert, lets his voice rage with everything he forbids himself. 

Then he takes a deep breath. 

“How much of this will I remember, Kenobi?”

The Jedi shrugs. “That depends in part on how much you want to remember. That Ben is protected, for sure, and that this is one thing you don’t need to worry about. He shouldn’t use the Force in greater measures, though. We are no longer of this world and our power is limited in some ways.” The smile grows, sets his eyes alive. “In others though….We will be around. Remember this, Hux. We will be around.”

Hux watches as Obi-Wan Kenobi turns, the hood back up to hide his face. He wants to hold him back, wants to ask him more, different questions, but nothing in his head lines up to form words all of a sudden. 

“And sleep more, General, or meditate. Either way. You are not alone, Hux.”

***

Hux drifts awake with the drowsy heaviness of too little sleep and a warm bed. A lover in his arms, as described by many a cheap street poet on Coruscant, and no hurry in the world. 

Lips that mouth their way slowly up his arm and over his shoulder are the first things he truly registers. The second is the hand that splays over his abdomen in an inherently possessive gesture, before it moves down and tries to wiggle into Hux’s pants.

Ren.

Hux closes his fingers around the meddlesome hand on his stomach, turning towards the man in his bed in the process. The number of time they woke like this are so few he can still count them on one hand. His own preference runs strictly towards the practical and he simply refuses to indulge Ren’s childishness more than strictly necessary. 

“How long…?” _ _...did we sleep,__ is the question, he wants to ask. He gets an answer that jolts him awake at once, destroying the pleasant illusion.

“Months, Hux. That last time you fucked me before we shipped out.” 

The hand tries again to push into Hux’s pants and now he grabs it hard enough to bruise. He is not proud of the sudden hammering of his pulse in his ears, the terrible knowledge that he can’t just push Kylo back scaring him in ways he’d never admit to. 

“Fuck me, Hux. Like you fucked Ben.” Kylo’s lips catch on Hux’s outer ear, as if he knows… well, of course he knows how sensitive that spot is. “You were so careful. You did so good by him, Hux. He liked that.” 

Another breath caresses over Hux’s ear, all the while Ren’s hand fights against Hux’s grip, weak but horridly determined. “And so did I. I want you to fuck me like this. Just once. Nice and slow. As if you care.”

“Ren, no… “Hux pushes up, desperately trying to move away from the octopus-like embrace that are Kylo Ren’s limbs. 

“You don’t know what you are doing! No, Ren!” 

It is not easy to pry the hand off his body. Not only for Ren’s inherent strength. That hand belongs there. It feels right splayed across Hux’s skin, a warm imprint of pleasurable memories, of Ren’s breath hot in his ear, murmuring low encouragements __So tight. Relax, General, I’m not gonna hurt you more than you want me to. You are a fucking slut for me, General, aren’t you?__

“Why not?” Kylo whines in a tone more suitable for a five year old as Hux pushes him over and rolls him onto his back and there is nothing in the Galaxy more telling about Ren’s physical and mental state than the fact that he just goes with it. 

“Because you are not fully yourself, Ren. You are not even here right now! I have no idea how much of what I say you understand. You are a child one minute and a raving lunatic the next.” 

Hux holds Kylo down with one hand and uses the other to smooth down his own hair. He always feels more in control if it’s correctly combed. “Not that there is much difference between your current state and your normal state, but no!”

Ren’s answer is a wraithlike whine pushed through clenched teeth, sounding more like he is in pain than the usual juvenile discontent. Hux dares a glance and yes, Kylo is hard, leaking, painfully erect already and pushing up his hips as if his only goal in life were getting his cock near Hux. 

“Is it Corellia? I can give you Corellia.” Ren stares up at Hux, his eyes blown wide, near black with the pupils overtaking everything. “Then you’ll reward me. Snoke rewards me. But he doesn’t matter anymore. You do. Your legacy, Hux. Snoke doesn’t even try and talk to me anymore. He means nothing. Hux, please! Just this. I’ll move up the time table. We can do it with less. I’ll give you Corellia and you will do it?” 

Hux stems both his hands on Ren’s shoulder, closing his eyes against the hopeful puppy gaze that is one of the most disconcerting side effects of the drugs. 

“I don’t want Corellia, Ren,” he murmurs, because it’s true. If anyone were to offer him the Galaxy’s biggest shipyards on a silver tray, he’d decline if that meant Kylo Ren awake and aware again. “I want you.” Hux lowers his forehead to Ren’s, praying for a reprieve, waiting for the next hit.

“I love you,” Ren’s deep voice murmurs into the silence. "I’ll tear them apart. I promise.”

Hux chokes, too close to Kylo Ren to escape the words or their implications. It’s too late already to protect himself against this. Has probably been since the day he held Ren’s bleeding body down on a med bay stretcher while around them the shuttle threatened to fall apart under the stress of the Starkiller explosion. Ren had cried in silence and Hux had wiped his tears away, holding him together until he could safely drop him off to Snoke and into yet another hell.

Hux lifts his head and scolds himself a coward before he opens his eyes and looks down at the man for whom he risked everything. Whose care he took up as if it was a holy duty. Duty once more. 

Sitting back he lets his gaze roam freely over the body before him, all pale skin with scars and shadows that dip too deep. The broad shoulders and strong arms have been reduced to sharp, bony edges with his skin hanging off Ren’s emaciated frame like moss growing from dying trees, eating up the once thriving giants as parasitic nourishment of a new generation, a sacrifice for a higher good.

Only his eyes are the same, looking at Hux with an expression he had always pretended to not see.

If Hux is willing to do everything, then he needs to put his money where his mouth is, or rather his mouth were he doesn’t want to. For all the fucking they have done, it never felt as intimate as any of this. And wrong. It feels wrong with Ren’s trusting gaze on him and his mindless promises to do everything. 

Hux has no idea when and how he fucked “Ben” and he doesn’t want to know. He knows that Ren needs this and that has to be enough.

“Will you lie still for me, Kylo Ren?” He finds a lover’s tone with surprising ease, finds the smile even easier when Ren’s mouth tilts up. “I don’t want Corellia, Ren. Let me take care of you.”

Ren’s smile grows as he nods and raises his hands to reach for Hux. 

“Tsk… hands stay on the bed. Be a good boy.” 

Normally that would be a blatant invitation for Ren to be anything but, the man wouldn’t understand the words “good boy” if someone carved them into his stomach. This time, though, he settles his hands without hesitation and lets his shoulders drop to the sumptuous satin sheets with his hair curling around his face in luscious waves, aggravated by the smile on his wide mouth that said “Fuck me.” 

A faint tinge of salt sits in the back of Hux’s throat and is ignored the same way as the sinking feeling in his stomach.

He had sworn he could accept whatever of Ren they got back, but this…? What was this even? A man pliant and soft, easily directed if only the right person speaks the words?

Ren’s smile falters, hope bleeding out of him with every minute Hux hesitates and it’s the last push he needs to lean forward, his hands settling on Kylo’s thighs: Like a puppet with its strings cut, Kylo puts up neither resistance nor opinion when Hux pushes his legs open, his smile a horrid parody of someone Hux remembers.

He doesn’t react when Hux throws the blanket off the bed or when Hux settles between his legs, hands settled comfortably on Ren’s hips as if they belong there. 

Only Kylo’s fingers twitch over the satin sheet, grappling for purchase, not even grabbing the cloth he could have torn apart a few weeks back, as if he is trying not to damage the fabric. Hux told him to keep his fingers there and like the good boy he is, Ren does what his declared master said, because he can’t face the fear of upsetting him enough to make him stop.

It is better this way, Hux tells himself as he lowers his head. For both of them. He will take care of this and pray that it knocks Ren back out. 

“Doors locked. No entrance,” he commands the automated system, then he grabs Ren’s cock, loosens his throat and pushes down.

They haven’t had each other like this for more than two months. Since before Starkiller fell. Ren had been too injured, even when Hux had delivered him dutifully to the hands of Snoke. For torture. The scars on Ren’s face and body are still raw and red, his left side a mass of puckered tissue that hadn’t been properly cared for in all the time Ren had not been with Hux, instead it had been torn and aggravated every time Ren had been thrown in yet another bout of rage.

As Hux looks up the long pale column of Ren’s body now, past the scar on his side, past the sharply pronounced ribs to find the man’s eyes, his gleaming wet lips, bitten red by his own teeth, as Hux circles his tongue around the engorged head of Ren’s cock, he promises to make this good for him. For no other reason than that it’s the only thing he can do. A cheap apology if there ever was one. 

He lowers his head slowly, tasting the thick sweetness of precum, tastes Kylo’s desperate hunger. Ren’s hips buck up into Hux unrelenting hands following his mouth as he pulls back with his tongue trailing along the thick vein on the underside. Hux registered Ren’s dark moan with something like satisfaction that soars into a living, shakily contained fire as Ren digs his fingers deep into the sheets over long fingernails cutting through the cloth with carefully directed violence. 

Settling on an easy rhythm, sucking licking, scratching only very carefully with his teeth, Hux drives his lover - if he dares describe them like that - higher and higher with single minded determination.. His tools, the arsenal he carries stored in the back of his mind, banished to memory the moments when Kylo had whispered his name as Hux had relaxed his throat and taken Ren in all the way only to swallow as he hit the back of his throat, how Ren used to shiver to slow scratches along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. How he loved getting only the head of his cock sucked. There is no elaboration in what he does, Hux goes straight for the endgame, art, pride and his own need, and yes dammit, he needs, forgotten for this.

Hux almost wishes that Ren would dig one of his gargantuan hands into his hair, ignoring the earlier order. He doesn’t. He only bucks up against Hux’s tongue, slides between his lips in growing desperation. Hux doesn’t stop him, doesn’t push down on Ren’s hips again.There comes a point where Kylo’s eyes fall shut and all Hux can see on his face is pain, a point at which he closes his own eyes and relaxes his jaw and lets his hands curl against Ren’s skin in loose fists that can neither hit nor hold.

Ren comes with a low cry of relief that hangs in the room long after Hux swallowed the last bitter drop and the salt that goes with it, too. 

He doesn’t meet Kylo Ren’s heavy lidded eyes, his gaze fixed on the man’s lips, pulled into not quite a smirk, too stupefied, too relaxed to have full control over his face yet. 

It grows into a smile as Hux leans back and collects the blanket from the floor to pull it back over Ren’s naked form. No reason to traumatize Bunny more than strictly necessary. 

Ren receives him with a heavy kiss, a slow syrupy thing that flows between them with the lazy remnants of a thorough fuck. Hux allows it to. Allows it to go on far longer than he normally would, until Ren’s eyes close and he sinks back into the sheets, happy for once. 

The smile stays. 

Behind him the bathroom door locks with blessed finality. 

Hux had barely managed to open the window a crack to let the fertile air wash away the smell of sex, before he fled and left the sleeping man behind. 

It’s not that he can’t take it. He can take anything, if he must. Hux has taken worse in his life and there is nothing that anybody can throw at him anymore that his father hasn’t thought to fortify him against.

It’s not that.

He turns on the shower and shucks his light pants, stepping under the spray as if he might find relief there. The water is lukewarm, yet he can’t be bothered to turn it up. 

The tiles are cold when he presses his forehead against them, his own cock heavy and hot in his hand. They throw his sigh back at him, mocking him with his own disgust and the terrible relief he finally finds as he works his hand up and down the length, gliding his palm slowly over the tip and back down. 

Five minutes is what he grants himself. One to just breath and settle into the feelling. The rest to get on with it. So he does. Pumps with his teeth gritted and tears burning behind his eyelids that he doesn’t allow to fall. The wall doesn’t care if he hammers his fist against it, screaming with his teeth dug into the flesh of his arm as he comes. 

The water is still luke warm as he washes with methodical movements, his mind carefully blank of any thought. Not yet, he thinks, allowing himself a few more minutes to pull together until the need to sob has abated and he can face his reflection with his jaw set.

He shaves, he combs his hair. 

A glance at the chrono confirms four hours of sleep. The haunted shifting gray of his eyes in the mirror confirms one weird dream. 

Pictures, words he should remember, but all he can procure is warm desert wind and the knowledge that for now, Kylo is safe. Inasmuch his dreams are a reliable oracle for __that.__

Hux closes the window before he grabs the combat fatigues and makes his way to the kitchen. 

Light falls out the half open door like an invitation and Hux runs into the urgent need to turn around, to walk back to where he came from. To Ren and that room.

Shaking his head at himself and his weakness Hux pushes through the door. 

No people await him inside, assaulting him with their humanity and their stupid need to come together as a group to talk about inanities. Only Flipside sits at the table, staring into a cup of herbal tea that is no longer steaming, but that he still has his fingers wrapped around as if to warm them. He looks up with the shadow of a smile on lips and it dies a sudden, unremarkable death as he recognizes Hux. 

“Lieutenant.”

“General.”

The caf pot is always filled, the caf good and expensive and Hux wants to murder the head scientist for this alone. Wasting First Order ressources on something so trivial.

Behind him Flipside snorts softly and it sounds suspiciously like an aborted laugh, though his face is unmoved when Hux looks over his shoulder. 

Hux is not convinced and just in enough of a mean mood to insist

“Any incidents I should know of, Lieutenant?” 

“No, Sir,” Flipside slaps an eager expression on his handsome face and watches Hux as if he could do no wrong. The man is too perfect. Too clever, too successful in anything he does. Top of his class, never been written up for anything but the most minor violations. He is respectful, intelligent, a terrific fighter and he has formed a bunch of washouts into one of Phasma’s most successful units. 

“We have had minor contact with the local Fauna. The rodents the reports talk about?” He smiles and it is far too nice for Hux’s liking, it rubs painfully at the sharp edges that hide under his skin in that moment, Flipside’s relaxed exterior far too much of a counterpoint to not grate. “We took care of the nest and it shouldn’t be a problem anymore.”

“Good…” Hux grabs his cup of and dumps a thumb wide of sugar in. “So I take it that’s not why you sit here in the early hours of the morning.”

The idiot dares to actually laugh. 

“No, sir. I had some weird dreams, nothing big. Just thought some tea would help,” he says with his deep, pleasant voice, cordial warmth and competence. “You, Sir? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Hux sets his cup down on the table and sits. At least Flipside has the decency to ask before he intrudes on his privacy, unlike his medic. It is as if someone had taken two molds of the same rough outline and shoved it in different directions, one a perfect warrior, the other a bumbling disappointment, not stupid, just… whatever Bunny was. Both with light brown hair and hazel eyes, round faces and skin that, even with the amount of time they spend under helmets, retains a healty, sun-touched color, but where Bunny was soft and a bit wide eyed, Flipside was all hard angles and sharp corners. The same mold gone wrong, indeed. 

“The same,” Hux lifts a corner of his mouth in no attempt to seem friendly before he drops his gaze to his cup and they both fall silent.

Unexpectedly, it is more companionable than awkward. Flipside doesn’t try to bring up smalltalk, he just seems content to sit, sharing Hux’s presence with no expectations and the kind of stillness that rests in itself, as if he knows that Hux barely handles himself right now, let alone an outsider.

Hux draws on the dark bitterness of the caf as if it was a lifeline, the astringent depths beneath the warmth and the sweetness a sharp center point to fix on. He wonders what kind of dreams Flipside flees from, which ghosts his tea is supposed to banish; a nice, pointless thought experiment, running through the battles the man has seen, picking out the worst, comparing his recommendations to the overall toll. 

“Why do they call you Flipside?” Hux asks after several minutes, when his curiosity gets the better of him. This one question will not undermine his authority as a commander, on the contrary, right now he needs this man’s loyalty to protect him and Kylo and maybe this is a lesson he learned from FN-2187. Just because people were raised to be loyal, it is not a given at any point in time that they remain so forever. 

“Why?” Flipside’s mouth curls. “Because I win every coin toss.” 

“Every, Lieutenant?”

“96.2%, sir.” 

"Fascinating," Hux murmurs. And it is. While the normal statistical distribution with coin tosses always slightly skews towards one side, 96.2% is an extreme deviation, one that raises questions. Now, if his resident expert of the usual were coherent enough to answer questions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unofficial song for this chapter:  
> Queen - Love Kills (the Ballad)


	5. Ascending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Kylo Ren struggles against his madness, makes powerful allies, and wreaks havoc and destruction. 
> 
> Insanity is slowly claiming Kylo and he must decide if he will follow truth or lies. He can find no peace, rest is no sanctuary and pain is the only thing that matters, that brings control. There one certainty on which Kylo can rely - that Leia Organa robbed Kylo Ren of what he valued most so he will claim her life.

“How is he?” Bunny jerks to a stop two steps into the kitchen, although she had been expecting the question. It’s the first one Flipside asks every night. 

“Better,” she says and while that is not a good thing, Bunny can’t help but smile. 

Tonight as she walked into the bedroom, Kylo Ren had been tracking her with shining dark eyes and a lopsided smile on his lips that had turned into a smirk as she took his pulse. 

“You remind me of someone…,” he had murmured as she fixed the injections, the General’s eyes on her hands like a hawk’s. 

“That’s good, Lord Ren.”

“No, it’s not,” Kylo Ren had snorted and the smile had broken into a most beautiful, most crooked grin and set his dark eyes alight. “... normally, but I think I like you.”

That had been when Hux had spurred her on with a crisp command and taken the injector from her hands before she even had had a chance to answer, but Kylo Ren had smiled at her, his right hand resting with utmost trust on Hux shoulder while the General pushed the drugs into his veins. The expression hadn’t faltered until the helpless relief slackened his face and had forced him back under. 

“He’s getting more alert and it’s good for the General, too. I think he actually slept last night.” Bunny closes the door behind her and turns the key before she crosses the room to step into Flipside’s open arms. 

“I wished I had your optimism, Bunny, I seriously do,” Flipside murmurs and presses a kiss to her hair, his chest expanding against her arms with a sharp intake of breath.

“You don’t want to kill him, do you?” She muffles her response into his shirt, eyes closed, drowning into his familiar scent and the absolute unflinching security of his embrace. “You like him. 1120 likes him, too.”

“He’s a brilliant tactician, a good commander.” 

“And you like him,” Bunny needles and gets a low laugh in response.

“Yes, I like Hux, but if he puts you in danger, his life is forfeit.” His fingers are warm and calloused under chin as he tips up her face. “Those are the rules.”

“So, he really wants to get rid of us? Are you sure?”

Flipside shrugs and picks her up to place her on the counter, a careless gesture, as much a testament to his strength as it is to the intimate familiarity between them as he places his hands on her shoulder and leans in, their faces inches apart on a smile that holds the knowledge of decades between them.

“I am absolutely sure. Does he want to? No. But he will. And it will be his last mistake.”

“Accidents happen…?” Bunny squeaks and finds herself snagged into a crushing embrace, the one fixpoint that has always been there in her life, the one sure thing she can count on. 

“I happen, Bunny,” her commander murmurs into her hair.

“Don’t give up on him so soon, Flip. He’s not like the others. Not anymore.”

He had been a crisp man when they had arrived, a honed blade, cruel and cold, absolutely unapproachable. 

Tonight Hux had taken the nutrition bar she had handed him with a grateful nod - Meiloorun, his favorite - the gaunt features of his tired face softened into an infinite sadness, while she had watched him rub the tiny wounds of the injections to stop the blood flow. If he had noticed her watching him, he hadn’t cared, his eyes transfixed on Kylo Ren’s face, his own pain flaring as the awareness fled from his lover. 

“I think we are at a point, sir, where we can wean him off the Force suppressors,” Hux eyes had snapped up, his mouth the only soft thing in a face that was now nothing but sharp cutting angles, but he had nodded.

“It’s better to do it now, while he’s still comparably weak. Nobody has any idea what will happen, do they?”

“No, Sir, we can only try to limit the damage and the danger.”

After six weeks even the false pretense of forced distance had fallen. 

“Write up a plan, we’ll discuss it ten tomorrow sharp.” Hux trusted her, perhaps as much as he trusted his advisors on the  _ Finalizer _ , more, if he was willing to put Kylo Ren’s life into her hands. And he genuinely liked 1120, as much as anybody could, anyways.

Flipside snorts softly against her hair, his grin evident in his voice. 

“I like 1120,” he murmurs, voice warm with good humor.

“I don’t,” Bunny grumps against his chest, enduring the jerks of his silent laughter and the mock petting of her hair with natural grace and silent promises of retribution somewhere down the line. 

“Of course, you don’t little one.”

  
  


***

 

The pain beats slowly, a steady drumbeat right above his heart. Ben, he knows, and refuses to accept it. Ben is a nuisance, Ben holds him back, but Ben also remembers things, Ben still knows things that Kylo has long forgotten.

Kylo Ren pushes to his feet with a curse. Of course! Naboo! Far enough off the core worlds to have less protection, close enough to Leia Organa to make her come and try to get him. Foolishly insipid woman.

Phasma awaits him as he marches onto the bridge of the Finalizer, people fleeing his path and the sounds of the boots. He is as together as he can get these days, the mask his shield from their petty inconsequential gibberish about the impossibility and the Supreme Leader’s wishes.

It is time to end this while he still has a shred of his sanity left.

Not very long, then.

“Ready your men, Captain. We are going to take Naboo.”

 

***

 

The sprawling blue-green planet hangs before Kylo Ren as a willing canvas for his hatred to encompass. He cannot help the dissatisfaction, cannot help that he prefers destruction up close and personal, yet has to settle for the wholesale annihilation the  _ Finalizer _ can cause to the surface of Naboo. The only consolation to his frustration is that this is exactly what Hux would have done.

“Fire the turbolasers again,” he orders with calm deliberation. The crew scrambles around him, mostly silent out of fear, and Phasma is conspicuous in her absence.

Currently, he is aiming for swamps and grasslands while mostly avoiding the pockets of human civilizations that dot the surface of the gemlike planet. Kylo offers a leniency he is not known for to the ruling Queen in hopes she will draw his mother out.

The viewscreen shows the dark black pockmarks the  _ Finalizer _ has carved out of the planet’s crust, distant and impersonal. It does nothing to calm the seething pit within Kylo, rage that bubbles and burns, that needs an outlet in violence.

“Kylo Ren, we will not give in to your terrorism,” the Queen says when she contacts him. He hears how the solemnity hides her fear, her dark eyes wide pools of barely contained terror. Her skin is pale under the white paint, the crimson dot on her lip the only bit of color. Even her elaborate headdress is creamy pearls against the coal-black silk of her hair.

“Just call for General Organa, you simply need to request her aid. You know she’ll come,” Ren croons with one hand outstretched in an almost pleading manner.

“We are a free democracy, the leader of the Resistance is not beholden to us,” the young voice sounds so determined. It takes everything in him to not let the Force swirl out and choke her.

“Call her, Queen Aiedé, or suffer the consequences,” Kylo warns before terminating the transmission.

The Petty Officer in charge of communications gives a quick nod, the Queen is sending out a distress call. Ben was right, General Organa would never abandon the planet of her mother to a madman. Kylo is done chasing the head of the Resistance.

 

***

 

His quarters lie silent around him, the low thrum of the  _ Finalizer _ a familiar lullaby, still, he cannot sleep, his mind churning over thoughts and words, possible outcomes and lost memories into a slow maelstrom of desperation, whispering of what is long gone. 

He rarely eats, forcing down tasteless nutrition bars when his body threatens to break down. Nothing has flavor anymore. Nothing matters either, except this one singular goal, the endpoint. Leia Organa robbed Kylo Ren of what he valued most so he will claim her life.

His body is failing him. His side aches, the scar pulls and stretches cruelly. When he jams his hand into his side to relieve the pain he feels his ribs jutting against his palm. Death swirls all around Kylo, nipping at his heels, and he eagerly accepts it into himself. Kylo can’t conjure up the will to care about his body, fighting too hard to keep the fragments of his sanity together. He has to be clear headed to find Organa, to fulfill his duty to Hux. Only then can it all be washed away, only then can he rest. The closest thing he can allow himself is meditation, sleep coming only when his body collapses.

There is no rest in his sleep, no place he can escape the dreams. No, not the dreams; the voice. The one that sounds so young yet so commanding, passionate, unlike Hux. A different kind of leader. The way Kylo always thought his grandfather would sound, but this is only a ghost from the past that whispers half-truths and tries to turn him from his true course.

Meditation is the only solution Kylo can find that allows him at least a modicum of rest.  He can calm his mind and let his body settle, the pain subsiding.  The deep, dull ache has become his constant companion, only easing when his body is still, the one truth he can accept anymore, when reality seems to waver and shimmer like heat lightning. In the depths of meditation, Kylo can try to unweave the strands of his madness to keep himself focused. 

His awareness sinks deeper in the calm pool, a fragile kind of stillness that hones Kylo’s senses. At his back lurks the wraith that shadows him.  _ Ben _ . Not the Ben that loved Hux, this Ben is older, left innocence long behind. He is the man Kylo might have become had he denied Snoke. Kylo hates him.

The heavy encumbrance of his stare is a never-ending drumbeat of disappointment against Kylo’s skin and if Kylo were to ever meet his mother again, he imagines that the same fathomless sadness would radiate from her. General Organa, however, will simply pin him with a cold gaze fit only for her enemies.

Tonight shadow-Ben is feeling bold and creeps around until they kneel facing each other, two men tall and pale, with a dark mops of hair framing rather unique faces that are no longer perfect mirrors, differentiated by subtle alterations in muscle mass and tone. And scars.

Kylo has no problem lifting his chin in challenge, connecting his gaze with the shadow’s. He has never been one to back down, not even when he had been fifteen and as close to broken as he ever got and this softened facsimile of himself is not even half the match the Knights were. 

The cruel lines of his mouth, the frame of his face are blurred on this version of Ben. Washed out. Kylo reaches out to hook his fingers into that face, into those eyes that are not at all similar to his own. Bitter hatred courses through his veins, rushing with his every heartbeat, for all that shadow-Ben represents, but his hands stop centimeters from Ben’s face.

_ You can’t hate me forever, _ Ben’s voice is soft, not yet mocking.

“I can,” Kylo says, trying to match Ben’s tone.

Arms slimmer than his own reach out, wraps long artist’s fingers around Kylo’s wrists. The touch is harmless yet Kylo flinches as he pulls away only to find that Ben is as just as strong as Kylo.

_ You need to start listening if you want to wake up, _ Ben chides.

“I’m awake as I need to be,” Kylo cannot keep the growl contained. Anger keeps the panic, the questions, at bay.

_ You aren’t, not yet. Maybe not ever. The galaxy needs us in it, Kylo Ren,  _ shadow-Ben says and moves forward to embrace him. Those same artist’s fingers slide gently over the skin of Kylo’s shoulders, brush the scars that his grandfather’s lightsaber saber left, and wrap around him with a warmth Kylo constantly denies himself. Promises, empty promises of freedom and his most ardent wishes granted whisper between them, as unspoken as they are heard, if only Kylo allows Ben in, like he did their younger self.

This time Kylo refuses. 

He jerks himself out of the trance with a blood sputtering scream. The warm coppery taste flows over his chin, testament of his teeth that still dig deeper into his cheek. The pain promises control.

No more of Ben can be allowed to worm it’s way back into his subconscious.

 

***

 

He walks through the sterile halls of the  _ Finalizer  _ as the world suddenly tilts on its axis. A tenuous buoyancy of weightlessness, a moment of wasted breath before darkness stealthily creeps over his vision. Kylo’s hand sweeps out, brushes the smooth wall to his right and he almost finds purchase, almost overcomes the drag of unconsciousness. The sharp tang of antiseptic assaults his senses and is the last thing Kylo knows before it all fades away.

He resurfaces with a low groan to the best possible dream but also the worst.

A smooth hand cups his jaw as Kylo stares into jade green eyes, framed by a fine dusting of gold lashes. His throat issues a dry clicking noise as he swallows but it's better than the whimper that wants to escape.

“You’ve been an inordinate amount of trouble; you know?” Hux’s voice is exactly as he remembers it, cultured and rich with his clipped vowels and the faint tang of expensive brandy rolling in the deep, a treasure to discover for those who know him in his most private moments. With a greedy tilt of his head Kylo rubs his cheek against Hux’s palm just for the sensation of his stubble catching against soft skin and the scent of small blue flowers and the rare oil of high rising pines with just a hint of burning resin below. Just Hux.

“You like it when I'm trouble,” Kylo murmurs with a lazy smile as a noise suspiciously like a laugh escapes Hux.

As Hux's touch withdraws with a slowness that speaks of regret. Kylo forces his mind through the fog of pleasantries towards a basic awareness of his surroundings. A wide, sumptuous bed and cool silk rubs against his bare skin. Hux’s face is shrouded in shadow but his pale chest is exposed and soft sleeping pants ride low on his hips, leaving his iliac crest tantalizingly bare. Heat bursts through Kylo, every part of him drawn toward the man in front of him.

“Perhaps not as much as you like causing it. I do have a ship to command while you're off playing your little game of hide and seek,” Hux says and Kylo hears the hidden reprimand.

“You're dead,” the words try to stick in his throat, leaving him raw and exposed.

“Doesn't excuse me from my duties.”

That is so quintessentially Hux that Kylo snorts out a laugh. He glances up expecting to see humor in Hux’s features and is frozen at the odd mixture of exasperation and melancholy. Not even his hallucination can be happy anymore. But then, Hux was never happy, rarely easy.

“Talk to me,” Ren whines, choking almost on the memory of never hearing Hux’s voice again. It bites into him with razor sharp teeth, fraying the heart of his psyche, or what little is left of it. “Tell me a story, or whatever you like.”

“A story? I’m not a babysitter, Ren.” Hux scoffs the familiar taunt but instead of indignation, this time it conjures nothing but nostalgia. Kylo screws his eyes tightly closed but can feel the shift of Hux’s body as he looks down at him.

“Please, Hux. I haven’t heard your voice in….” Whatever the other man sees forces a heaving sigh from him.

“Alright, alright. I don’t know any children’s tales, so… I could tell you about my mother. Unless you’d rather hear the specs of the  _ Finalizer _ ’s engines?” Hux relents, far beyond his usual indulgence, with not quite a smile in his voice and just a touch of shadowed pain that Kylo can’t quite pinpoint, but, he thinks, maybe it’s only fair to hear about a dead man’s mother, when he is on the way to murder his own.

Kylo doesn’t look up when he curls closer to Hux’s heat, soaking it in until it permeates his own frame. He buries his nose in Hux’s side and breathes deeply, luxuriating in the scent. It's been so long; he'd almost forgotten how good Hux smelled.

“Your mother, please,” Kylo agrees with a soft, childish lilt. There is no question of tucking himself into the warm space behind Hux mental barriers that feels so welcoming, so safe. Kylo fits perfectly there, floating without care on the gentle, orderly streams of Hux’s surface thoughts that the General never bothers to hide. 

“Her name was Yshalla,” Hux begins, speaking softly with his thoughts far away lingering on a not quite memory of a woman, clutching a little, tow-headed boy. “An ordinary name for an ordinary woman. But she was beautiful, I suppose.”

In Hux’s memory, a child’s impressions filled in with the details of a staged family holo, the woman’s long strawberry-blonde hair is pulled back in a complicated net of gold strands studded with diamonds that catch the light and reflect it in rainbow shards. Her heart-shaped face is delicately sweet with high cheekbones and a lush, smiling mouth that she clearly bequeathed her son, just like her grey-green eyes that proudly rest on the child in her arms. 

Brendol Hux towers over them, a menacing figure that drowns out everything in the long shadow he casts, greying hair and the old Imperial uniform he insisted on wearing only underscoring the cruel cast to his eyes. 

Nothing disturbs Hux outward calm or the secure touch of his arm that rests so reassuringly around Kylo’s shoulder, but the little boy turns his face into his mother’s neck, away from the man.

“The only thing of importance she really ever did was being an obedient wife to my father and giving birth to me. Her father had married her off in the hopes to increase his own importance,” Hux scoffs. “He clearly didn’t know my father, he had always set his eyes on bigger things than a failing Captain and when the Empire broke…,” Hux’s voice trails off, fractures of impression swimming to the surface, fear, cold, sheer terror, only to be ruthlessly suppressed. “My father dragged us to the Unknown Regions and became one of the backbones that built the new Order with his flock of “special students” he had brought with him from the Academy.

“I don’t really remember her…,” Kylo wraps his arms around Hux’s middle in a futile attempt to stifle the desperate sob of a woman in his thoughts, or the bitterness dripping in Hux’s voice. “She tried hard to be a good wife. She knew her place and provided my father with an heir… as if she ever would have dared to disappoint my father.”

Hux’s fingers are surprisingly gentle as they tangle into Kylo’s hair to tangle and pull. 

“But she was too damn sentimental for her own good,” he says, curling his shoulders in, bending awkwardly over Kylo without ever coming close, “and she wanted to coddle and pamper me. I don’t ever remember wanting such a thing, such tenderness wasn’t for the Hux’s. Still, as an infant and toddler she spun pretty lies for me. Told me that I could do great things, become great things. You couldn’t expect a child that young to understand, to be able to separate out the fiction she was feeding me,” Hux continues and closes his eyes to the the faint smell of amber and sandalwood that Kylo vaguely recognizes as the memory of Yshalla’s perfume filtered through a child’s senses.

For Hux it conjures warm arms wrapped around him, of soft kisses on his brow, of cuddles and kisses and laughter, a purity to the happiness at pleasing his mother that Kylo pretends isn’t there, for once not because it is mirrored in Alderaanian lullabies and hands that brush back his hair instead of greeting dignitaries. Hux wouldn't want, needs Kylo to not remind him of things he's buried.

“The Commandant wanted exactly that and it was my first failure and because mother made it her goal to be the perfect wife, she had to leave me to father’s mercies at times. He never did anything that you wouldn’t do to a recruit, though, everything was perfectly justified.” If there is any resentment in Hux at this, Kylo can’t sense it.

“He needed to or I would never have hardened.” 

His fingers tighten in Kylo’s hair, clench around one unruly strand to the insistent crack a belt across his backside.

“I’m afraid I had a bit of a rebellious streak as a boy,” Hux smirks down on Kylo and slowly releases his fingers from the abused strand of hair one by one, his soft words chased by pain and the hard knowledge of icy water swirling around stick thin boyish legs with knobby knees until he couldn’t feel his legs. 

_ ‘If you’d only try harder, it means so much to your father.’ _ Holding his arms outstretched for hours on end, extra time added each time his hands dipped below shoulder level Forced to run laps until he was puking with exhaustion and his muscles gave out. 

“But keep that to yourself, Ren. We don’t want people confusing me for you.” 

_ ‘He doesn’t ask for much, why do you always have to provoke him with your temper, dear?’  _

A bitter cold sweeps away the loving comfort from earlier and a strangled sadness creeps into Hux. Kylo knows it for betrayal and loneliness, he has felt them often enough in his life to recognize them in Hux. Here, Kylo surmises, this is where Hux started to hate them both. Just a little.

Kylo closes his arms tighter around Hux’s waist, buries his face in the soft skin of his side and tries to remember a time when his mother or father hit him. That he has to think about it, even with them, tells him everything he needs to know and he wonders what Hux would say to his upbringing. That it explains Kylo’s lack of discipline, likely, and maybe it does, though Kylo can’t see Luke resorting to methods like these. Rey had been-

The thought is squashed.

“But you know what she did,” Hux murmurs, minutes later, emerging slowly from a deep pool filled with the panting voice of a boy counting push-ups, “with her passivity and her disingenuousness? She taught me to be a survivor. She showed me to wear a mask, you must always show the same face. It was too hard for her to keep up the charade of being two people, to remember what she told me in private and what she’d said in front of father. It was her undoing,” Hux’s fingers slide back into Kylo’s hair, searching for comfort, finding it in the slow strokes of Kylo’s hand up his side and down again, mapping out familiar skin that feels so real for once. 

Shame filled mental images bombard Kylo - of Yshalla hiding bruises under long sleeves and high necked gowns. Of Hux’s mother artfully applying makeup to conceal dark discolorations on her milky skin. Her voice thick with tears:  _ it’s only happened once, it was an accident, please don’t cry... _

“She loved you, I’m sure,” Kylo ventures. He knows he misstepped when Hux stiffens in his embrace. Even though the action was expected, it isn’t quite right. It’s off by just a hair, barely even noticeable, but Kylo is intimately aware of every aspect of Hux. He pulls back, just a touch, out of Hux’s mind worried that he is unconsciously manipulating him. 

“Love is for idiots. No, she wanted to engender a softness for her in me. Wanted me to be her champion and if she’d lived longer she may have succeeded. When I was a boy, I did feel something for her. Father was always distant but mother made herself available and she liked to give me trinkets and sweets. It was inevitable that would have an impact on me, children are so impressionable.

“When I was five she died. One night she went to sleep and never woke up.”

Playing out in a neat array of pictures is a silent funeral where the only mourners are Hux, his father, and Yshalla’s parents. They all wear black armbands that Brendol tears from his sleeve the moment the ceremony is over. Young Hux tries to pocket his, the last vestige of his mother but the Commandant snags it from his grip, the scrap of fabric disposed of as Hux watches. 

”He knew she was having a desultory effect on my upbringing.  I think I might have cried when they told me she was gone, if I did I don’t remember it.  Father certainly wouldn’t have allowed such an outburst more than once,” Hux voice is far away, both here and in his mind, caught in pain that is buried so deep that it became a memory of itself

“You weren’t old enough to understand anything, Hux. She was your mother; why wouldn’t you have been allowed to mourn her?” Kylo asks with sick suspicion.

“I was old enough to know better. For a short while I thought my father might have killed her,” Hux’s response confirmed Kylo’s fears and he jerks back to look up at Hux.

“Are you sure he didn’t?”

“As certain as I can be. I looked it up in the databases later, she had been born with a defective heart and it just stopped. And even if not... the past is the past. Shortly after her death my father found Reina and she came to help raise me as she had children of her own. Her husband had escaped the death of the Empire and was currently serving offworld and father had his hands full with helping to make sure the First Order survived. It was an elegant solution to the problem.” 

False boredom laces Hux’s tone with a flimsy excuse to appear positive. The dread uncertainty of it skitters through Hux, strong enough to make Kylo shiver, but Hux needs to cling to the truth that he allows himself.

“A child isn’t a problem, Hux. Even my own parents never told me I was a complication to be solved,” Kylo grates out, the nausea worsening. His own father didn’t have time for a kid and his mother was too busy being a General, being a mother to the New Republic to remember the child of her own body. Neither one had enough time for him but he’d at least felt wanted. Until he’d been shown that he wasn’t and that had made the cut deeper, made the wound hurt more. How well his parents had fooled Ben, the sting of shame pricks Kylo like tiny thorns.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” Hux tells him, his voice cold and commanding.

“No Hux, I need more time with you. I’ll do-?” Kylo’s voice catches on the words, holding onto what little he has with both arms and mind. He hates himself for sounding like this, knows Hux will look down on him for it, but he has to, has to try, to not lose him again.

Slowly Hux shakes his head and Kylo feels the heavy drag of gravity, pulling him back to his body.

 

***

 

The Force grips and pulls at him, Kylo thinks he’s being torn apart. It’s as if a floodgate has opened, like he’d been cut off from the source of his power and suddenly it returns. 

It’s too much, too fast, too soon. He cries out, his body twisting and shaking. The pain slices through him as thoughts and feelings bombard him. He screams, long and loud, but he can’t hear himself. 

He beats at his head with fists he can’t feel, curls into a fetal ball and claws at his scalp. His fingers creep up his cheeks and strong hands wrap around his wrists, stopping him from gouging his own eyes out. 

Unable to hurt himself, Kylo release the Force outward and latches on to everything he can. With appalling ease, he throws loose objects doing his best to break them in a bid to release the pressure within.

Kylo screams as his back arches, his muscles struggling to equalize the influx of what had been missing. Harshly he coughs and chunks of phlegm lodge in his throat offering the sensation of drowning. He’s been empty for so long, Kylo had forgotten the technicolor song of the Force. How it opened him to everything, exposed him, left him bleeding. Before, Snoke had helped him contain this fire that rampaged through him. Now Kylo has to save himself.

Phantom hands press on his arms and torso, hushed voices whisper secrets, and Kylo Ren struggles toward freedom. Balance. The middle ground. Neither light nor dark but poised perfectly between.

As his mind settles and calms, in between death and destruction, there is a familiar touch. It ripples over him, soothing like cool water. Fleeting and shadow-like the contact sweeps over Kylo and his whole being yearns for it. The Force branches out of him, wriggling out of his control, and questing toward the sole presence that he continually longs for.

Finding nothing. Finding everything.

 

***

 

“I think I’m losing him,” the voice says, it sounds cast adrift. Not as commanding as it was, not as certain. More like how Kylo thinks he sounds.

“You were just as stubborn, he’ll listen eventually. Now that he’s reconnected with the Force we can reach him,” comes the cultured response. A new voice.

Kylo curls in on himself, presses his hands over his ears to block out the words. The only time he’s known peace was curled around Hux, slithering into Hux’s mind in a bid to shut out all the others. Kylo has never been alone in his thoughts.

“I’ll listen now,” Ben says and Kylo grinds his teeth. Curls tighter on himself, pushes out with the Force as if he can create a wall that will separate him, segregate him.

“Well, he certainly inherited your flair for the dramatic.”

“Not now, Obi-Wan,” the voice grumbles and Kylo twitches involuntarily toward the sound.

_ Obi-Wan? Kenobi? _ A wave of dizziness sweeps over Kylo as the memories of stories about the General Jedi fill his head. He cracks open one eye; he has to see the infamous Jedi.

Disappointment breaks over him at the first man he sees, pale and insubstantial as a ghost. His hair brushes against the collar of his Jedi robes, he’s handsome enough but looks too young to be the man his mother idolized. His mouth is set in a stubborn line in a way that looks familiar. Kylo doesn’t remember his mother saying that Obi-Wan had a scar cutting a dark path near his right eye.

“I think you have his attention now, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says and his rich voice is full of humor.

Kylo’s eyes dart over toward the voice to see the real Obi-Wan and all thought flees. Obi-Wan and  _ Anakin _ .

Grandfather.

No. This is a trick, a test. Snoke is checking Kylo’s loyalty, seeing if he wants to return, that he hasn’t wavered in his path. It’s not real, it’s another dream, one more fucking lie to taunt him. To make him doubt.

If this is how Snoke thinks to try him, Kylo is more than willing to rise to the occasion. He broke with Snoke on that distant battlefield the moment Hux’s life ended. That began a new Kylo, one who abandoned all the destinies that had been placed in front of him. A Kylo who took charge of his own life.

“Lies. All of you,” Kylo bares his teeth.

“Not this time, I’ve been trying to reach you for so long,” Anakin says as he kneels down in front of him. Double vision overwhelms Kylo and for one perfect moment he can see both his mother and his uncle superimposed over the features of his grandfather. Who, strangely, looks as young as Kylo.

Kylo opens his mouth, he wants to refute this. Wants to scream that he isn’t gullible enough to believe. But he sees Obi-Wan ruffle Ben’s hair, hones in on the proud grin the Jedi Master offers his other self, and Kylo finds he wants that, as utterly pathetic as it is to still seek approval from anyone.

Anakin holds out a hand and Kylo stares at it. It looks nothing like his own hand, which is heavy and looks to be made for manual labor. Anakin, he knew, had been born a slave. He should look rougher, more like he was made for a life that would break lesser men. His grandfather looks as aristocratic as Obi-Wan yet Kylo can still make out features that he’s seen his entire life on his own face.

Hesitantly he takes the hand and lets Anakin draw him up until they’re both standing. Instinctively Kylo tries to hunch his shoulders, curves his spine in an attempt to make himself smaller. Kylo’s heart beats erratically at the realization that he’s taller than Anakin and he flushes with the knowledge that he wants to apologize.

“You have a choice to make,” Anakin tells him, his eyes so like Luke’s that Kylo is momentarily speechless.

“Come on, Ben. Let’s leave them,” Obi-Wan prompts gently but Ben sidles up to Anakin, determined to remind Kylo of all he’s lost. “Fine, you’re all the same! I have other business to attend to, so I’ll take my leave.”

“I’ve already made my choices,” Kylo manages to say as Obi-Wan vanishes. Dream it is, then. Dreams are liars, they only tell you what you want to hear.

“He thinks if he kills everyone who had anything to do with Hux’s death that will satisfy him,” Ben tells Anakin, echoing Kylo’s disgust.

“Don’t be blinded like I was, there’s more to you than one General,” Anakin says without hesitation and rage causes Kylo’s chest expand. Never had Kylo expected  _ this _ from Anakin, from the man who had been Darth Vader. Kylo had expected pride at his accomplishments, had expected Anakin to side with him. Hadn’t Anakin risked everything for Padmé? Hadn’t he embraced the dark side at her death? How was what Kylo doing any different?

“You… you should understand. You know what it’s like to lose the one thing that matters,” Kylo is aghast. Sad resignation floods Anakin’s features and Kylo steps back.

“All you’re doing is destroying yourself, you don’t have to be Ben or Kylo but you do need to stop the path you’re on. It only leads to your own destruction. Right now you are at a juncture where your choice will affect the whole galaxy. Do you keep believing the lies fed to you by your Supreme Leader? Or do you embrace the truth?” Anakin asks, some of his own temper rising to the surface.

“Truth? The only truth is death,” Kylo spits with anger cresting in him.

“No. You just want to believe that because you hurt. I hurt too, what I want should matter too,” Ben shouts before placing himself between Kylo and Anakin.

The hiss of Kylo’s lightsaber drowns out the weak noise that escapes Ben as Kylo thrusts the blade into him. Fierce satisfaction follows as Ben’s face slackens in death, his body slumping to the ground as Kylo lowers the point of his saber dislodging the remains of his other self like one would dirt. Broken but finally silent.

Even with the weapon still lit and his willingness to murder so recently proven, Anakin strides forward and slaps Kylo hard enough to make him lose his grip on his saber. It clatters to ground between them, extinguished.

“You need to grow the fuck up and accept reality. You’ve hidden here, lost in your own head for long enough. The lies started when you were too young to know any better but you are deeply connected to the Force – so fucking use it!” Anakin bellows, his eyes flashing dangerously.

“I’ve been using it, there is nothing left for me,” Kylo says mechanically. He reaches for that spot in his mind where Snoke used to reside, into the curious absent blankness that has lingered there since Hux’s death. Momentarily he’s thrown back to the battlefield and Kylo begins to shake as if a cold wind has blown through him.

Anakin shoots him a look full of pity but Kylo is busy tracing elusive thoughts to their logical conclusions. Hux is dead. Hux was, no matter how much Kylo wants to deny it, just a man. At his death Hux’s spirit would have been lost, the Force wouldn’t hold an echo of him. Everything that had been Hux would have dissipated before his blood had time to cool on Kylo’s skin.

“You’ve been lost but you have one more chance, one more choice. You can embrace what Snoke told you, hold tight to your hate, and follow those to end. Or you can listen to your heart, see through the lies and create a new life. One where you regain all that you think is gone,” Anakin’s voice is so sly that Kylo slants a glance at him. The expressive mouth is pursed as if holding onto secrets and Anakin’s blue eyes sparkle with deeply held mischief.

“My hate is all I have,” Kylo tells him hollowly. What Anakin asks is impossible, letting go of his anger is the last thing Kylo can afford to do. It would be letting go the last bit of Hux that Kylo has left.

“You could have so much more,” Anakin places a hand on Kylo’s shoulder. “You have a chance I never had, you can still turn back and find Hux. I let Padmé slip through my fingers and while I was trapped in madness I killed her. You don’t have to suffer like I did.”

Anakin sounds so sincere, part of Kylo has always been attuned to him and shares in the anguish. Taking several deep breaths Kylo reaches out with the Force, probes at the ghost in front of him. The iridescent and scintillating pulse of the Force flows strongly, what stands before Kylo is no mirage. This is his first decision – to believe this is his grandfather’s Force presence, the true spirit of Anakin or to dismiss it as a lie.

“It’s too late for me, grandfather. My path is set, once I find General Organa and take from her what she took from Hux…” Kylo trails off, the heavy realization that her death may be the last thing he ever accomplishes. She won’t be alone and the detritus that she collects has always been extremely loyal to her. They will hunt for him the way he has tracked her, hundreds seeking his death. As if they aren’t already searching for him, hoping to drag him down and spill his blood in retribution for what he’s already done.

“As long as there is one person who believes in you, it’s never too late. Don’t go down the path I did,” Anakin is close to begging and Kylo stares down at the body at his feet. Ben lies limply, one hand outstretched and blood pooling beneath him. It is with fascination that he watches the body twitch as the translucent specter of Ben rises from his corpse.

“Reach out for him, search for Hux with the Force,” Ben rasps, his eyes a pallid gold hue in death. He is the phantom-blue of most ghosts, the only bits of color on Ben are his eyes and the crimson stain on his chest.

Heat explodes in Kylo’s chest and wishes he could kill Ben again. He’d thought Ben would be free of his cruelty, apparently he has mastered that aspect of Kylo’s and honed it to a killing edge.

“You know he won’t be there,” his voice doesn’t shake. Doesn’t show how deeply Ben has cut him.

“Try,” Anakin urges, how he ignores the tension Kylo doesn’t know.

Kylo uncurls the Force like it was a tightly clasped fist, like he had to hoard it to himself. Slowly it roils outward like thick fog that blankets everything, muffling sounds and limiting vision. He can sense life all around him, bright sparks that flare like incandescent stars in the blackness of space. He has to focus, remembers green eyes and sharp teeth and creamy skin and clenched fists. Focuses on fox-red hair, a refined sneer, on hurtled insults lobbed like careless knives. Hux.

One star shines brighter before detonating like a supernova. The unique presence that is General Hux permeates all levels of reality around Kylo, interweaves the fabric of the universe and surrounds him. Hux is in the very air he breathes, settles around him like a cloak, is a second heartbeat throbbing harshly in his chest. It spirals around him, within him until his eyes slide shut and Kylo drops to his knees.

Ben trails cold hands over Kylo and he shivers. The Living Force sings him a tale of Hux, vibrant and fresh and not the signature of a dead man. Kylo shakes his head in denial, in disbelief, in horror.

One fist slams with punishing force into Kylo’s thigh, hard enough to make him grunt with pain. He smashes his leg again and again waiting for the Force signature to change, to become hazy, to burn away like fog in the sunlight. Instead it increases, Ben’s phantom touch changes and morphs until it feels like Hux trailing his gloved hands over Kylo. He chokes out a sob that rises until it’s a scream that burns Kylo’s throat.

It leaves Kylo breathless and he lets the radiating pain pull him away from the lies, from the false hope that Anakin Skywalker taunts him with.

 

***

 

This is what he has been waiting for. Working toward with such intensity that everything else has fallen away. His vision wavers at the edges, being so close to completing his task that Kylo has to clench his hand around the cold casing of his lightsaber hilt until the metal digs into his flesh through the gloves he wears.

Behind him, his command shuttle spreads a long shadow over the scenic grass of the lake country. The ship looks grotesque and monstrous against the backdrop of crystalline waters and picturesque hills. Bubbling giddiness tells Kylo that he resembles his ship here, a dark specter that defiles the ground he stands on.

He had carefully chosen the venue to disconcert Leia Organa, surround her with the beauty of her heritage while she was faced with her own death. He wanted to come alone, face down the traitorous whore that stole Hux from him. Countless times she had told him how she never embraced the Force, never tried to use it… that was for Luke, for her son to master. Yet she had had enough power and finesse to drive a spike of Force compulsion deep into Hux’s subconscious and make him sacrifice himself.

Of course she feared the premier General of the First Order, the man who had conceived and built the feared Starkiller Base that wiped out her precious Senate. She should be terrified of the man who decimated both the Republic and the Resistance with one fell blow. She had cried over the loss of life, but they both knew it was perfunctory at best. 

Leia Organa was a woman used to making sacrifices and Kylo knew she would understand the logistics. Even though the First Order had trained their Stormtroopers well, they still did not have the sheer numbers needed to overthrow both the New Republic and fight off the Resistance. Hux’s solution had been brilliant and elegant, a threat that only had to be used once so the whole galaxy would know of the power they could choose to wield.

A cool wind ripples the grass and Kylo’s robes, even with the mask’s filters engaged he can detect the cool mineral scent of the lakes. He expects a wave of nostalgia but there is nothing but the coiled excitement at finally completing his task.

In all of his dreams Kylo had envisioned a quick death for this mother, something akin to the shocking swiftness with which his father had died. It had been that swiftness, Kylo reasoned, that had made him feel hollow and robbed. He should have taken his time, should have drawn it out and pulled all the power he could from that moment. Bolstered himself, instead of allowing Ben’s memories to overwhelm him like guilt during a moment that should have brought Kylo to the pinnacle of his power.

The wind picks up, Kylo can make out the oily scent of exhaust ports and he knows Leia Organa has arrived. He presents a solitary figure on the plains but behind him in the Upsilon-class shuttle are several units of Stormtroopers, waiting. He had specified that she come alone but Kylo knows her precious Resistance would not allow it and she will not trust the man that Kylo has become to put herself at his mercy.

It’s a small craft, it can probably only hold half a dozen people and surprise piques in Kylo. Age has damaged General Organa’s faculties, that can be the only excuse for this display of madness. Soft chuckles escape Kylo, perhaps insanity runs in the family. The squat little shuttle touches down far enough away that Leia will need to put a fair amount of distance between her would-be rescuers as she walks to meet him. Perhaps they feel confident that he will not just shoot her once she is in range.

As she approaches the flat grassy area Kylo takes an involuntary step back. He had expected her come to this meeting girded for battle, wearing her General’s uniform and with her hair braided tightly, coiled about her head like a crown. Instead Leia Organa wears a creamy shift that ripples around her as she walks and her long hair spills down her back and shoulders to be caught in the playful breeze. She moves like a woman half her age and a curious weakness races through Kylo at the sight of her.

She walks right up to him and places the fingertips of her right hand against the cool faceplate of him mask. Kylo swears he can feel the heat from her fingers radiating through to brush at his skin. She should look angry or terrified or disappointed. Instead, as he drinks in the first sight of his mother as a grown man, all Kylo can see in her eyes is joy marked by deep sadness.

“You are so tall,” Leia breathes out. Her eyes never stop moving, trying to take in all of him at once. Tears trickle unheeded down her cheeks but the smile she offers him is one that Kylo remembers. The fiercely proud grin that was for Ben alone, that she should turn it on Kylo has his blood boiling at the wrongness of it, the unfairness of it.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“Take that mask off. If we are going to do this, I want to see your eyes. I know why you brought me here,” Leia says matter-of-factly and pleasure worms its way back into Kylo. Of course she knows he means her death. That does not mean she is repentant for killing Hux, but she will be. Kylo will make sure of that.

It is a grotesque parody of his confrontation with Han but this time when his helmet falls there is no metallic clang. The soft earth swallows the sound as his mask strikes it. Complicated emotions rush over Leia’s face chased away by relief and raw happiness. Her tears have started again and she impatiently dashes them away with the back of her hand.

“Your tears won’t save you,” he says, certain to keep his voice low and toneless. Truth is, anger sluices through him to see this display. Not loss, never that. Only now that her life is ending does she care, only now that Kylo is alone and broken does she pretend to have any emotion for him.

“They aren’t meant to save me. I’ve dreamed so often about this, about you,” Leia Organa abandons all dignity as she throws herself at Kylo and wraps her thin arms around him and rests her greying head against his broad chest.

Her slight weight almost staggers him, she feels so tiny and fragile, like a little bird has landed on him. Nothing could have prepared Kylo for this and he is incapacitated with shock. It is too little, too late though. She cannot make up for years of neglect with this display, she is just trying to unbalance him and Kylo will not allow her to gain the upper hand with emotional blackmail tactics.

He grips her upper arms harder than necessary and pushes her away from him. His hands remain locked on her and he gives into the desire to give her a shake. Leia’s hair hides her expression as it flies wildly around them, catching on his armor in a way that seems grasping and greedy. As if she really has missed him.

Kylo releases her so quickly that Leia stumbles and falls to her knees, the eggshell color of her flowing gown spreading around her like a shroud. He uses the Force to pin her to the ground even though she never even attempts to stand.

“Is it through dreams that you subverted him? Is that how you did it? Is that how you took him from me?” anger bursts out of Kylo, ravaging like a fire. He turns away to pace as the need to destroy swamps him and forces him into action.

“Who, Ben… Kylo? Who do you think I took from you?” Leia asks with genuine confusion.

He spins back to her and the word bursts from him, “Hux!”

For a moment Leia looks like she has been slapped but it is quickly replaced with a look that has more in common with scorn than pity.

“I had nothing to do with that, I wasn’t even there when you and the General attacked a simple supply outpost. That he was a casualty… I can’t be sorry that monster is gone. That it hurt you, I can regret. But loss is a part of war, if you didn’t want that you should work for peace,” Leia tells him with such honesty that it burns. He never understood how she could seem so innocent and lie so well, especially when he was on the receiving end.

“Liar! You snuck into his mind to force him sacrifice himself. You thought he was a monster? You’ll find that I’m far worse, mother,” he kneels down and takes her face between the gloved palms of his hands, the urge to squeeze is almost overwhelming but Kylo fights it.

“I would never do that; I would never misuse the Force even if I could control it with any accuracy. If I had known he was important to you, I would have protected him,” Leia says bluntly. Kylo senses that she does not expect to be believed which lends a curious veracity to her words.

A hand similar to his own comes to rest on Leia’s left shoulder just as another hand falls onto her right shoulder. Kylo jerks his glance upward to meet the steady gazes of Ben and Anakin. Sick rage snarls out of him and Leia flinches between his palms in an unconscious bid to escape.

“Why would she lie to you?” Ben demands reasonably.

 

***

 

Hux runs restless fingers through Kylo’s hair and he tilts his head to get more contact. He hates that Hux has this much power over him, his body betrays him in such small and subtle ways. Leaning into his touch, brushing accidentally against him, longing for him.

Kylo Ren needs no one. Least of all a remote General that fucked him as a means of damage control. He knew what they were to each other. Neither one tried to fool themselves that there was anything more to their unconventional relationship. They’d been destined to hate, to be constantly at each other’s throats. Kylo was half convinced that they’d kill each other in their battle for supremacy.

Except there has always been a weakness in him, a call to the light that he could never entirely eradicate. Snoke knew and tried to stamp it out. Hux must realize it making him harsher with Kylo than, perhaps, he should be.

Destiny.

The word is fraught with meaning, all of it Kylo hates. He’s always known what is expected of him and it’s made him lash out and run contrary to what was anticipated. Hux scrapes his nails over the sensitive spot at the nape of Kylo’s neck and he shivers pleasantly.

“Do you believe in fate?”

“No. Mystical bullshit that has no place in reality. Why, Ren?” Hux sounds like he actually wants an answer so Kylo twists his head so his face is hidden. He doesn’t have a good response, not one that won’t reveal more than what he wants to share.

When he’s quiet for too long, Hux’s fingers tighten in his hair to just the right side of painful. Kylo understands the implicit warning.

They’re sprawled out on the long seating unit in Hux’s quarters, well, Kylo is spread out across it while Hux sits properly with his feet on the floor and Kylo partially on his lap. Moving so that Hux will keep his fingers tangled in his hair, Kylo pulls himself up so his head can rest on Hux’s shoulder. Hux’s arm is wrapped around him now and Kylo tells himself that it’s easier to gauge his expression from here.

“It just seems like everyone I’ve known has had a destiny in mind for me. Except for you. You never expect anything from me,” Kylo finally manages to say, still uncertain that he might be offering too much.

“I do have expectations. You need to stop destroying my ship,” Hux huffs out but there is no real exasperation to what he says.

“Our ship,” Kylo reprimands. It’s true, the Supreme Leader had placed the  _ Finalizer _ under their joint command but Kylo, for the most part, was just as happy to let Hux have full authority of the flagship.

“My ship.”

One sharp nip at the smooth skin of Hux’s neck before Kylo swipes his tongue over the area in apology.

“Still. Everyone has wanted me to have some grand destiny. Leia thought I’d follow in her footsteps and be a Senator. Luke wanted me to be some great Jedi. Snoke has his own plans for me. Even Han thought I’d be more like him and be interested in smuggling. I’ve never had a real choice in anything, you know?” Kylo says in a rush. It’s beyond foolish to say these things and to Hux of all people. Already regret is pooling in him, making Kylo wish he could pull the words back and swallow them.

“Choices? Choices are for those too weak to know their path. If something is laid out before you that isn’t destiny, that’s having a strong purpose. You only have to decide to fulfill that potential,” Hux chides but underneath the words Kylo gets flashes of images.

Hux: drawing small spaceships, rifles, droids in the margins of schoolwork. Flickers of pride at the simple sketches. The sharp, meaty crack of his father’s open hand. Pride replaced by pain as his father’s voice tells him if he has time to waste of nonsense then he isn’t getting the most out of his education. Sullen silence instead of instant capitulation brings another harsh smack.

The sound of skin hitting skin is replaced by the sharp report of a thick leather tawse. Agony races up and down Kylo’s back as the memory of being beaten surfaces, faceless tormentors overlaying blows until his whole body is aflame and he can’t tell if he’s still being hit or not. Kylo spasms in Hux’s grip a thin sound of fear escaping him.

It’s ridiculous. Nothing like that ever happened to him, not even when he was working his way to a position of power in the Knights. He can still feel the tingling crack of the leather on his skin, his nerves still burn with lingering pain and, for a moment, it’s all too much. He tries to wrench away from Hux but he’s held in place by a firm hand.

That Hux can immobilize him gives Kylo a measure of calm. He sucks in a deep breath, tries to exhale the panic and confusion like he was taught. He squashes it, shoves the anxiety back down and concentrates on the points of contact between him and Hux – hand in the hair, shoulders brushing, chests pressing together.

Without warning Hux yanks Kylo’s head to the side, forcing his neck to bend at an awkward angle that has his neck and shoulder muscles protesting. Then he brushes his lips over Kylo’s, a gentle pressure that is gone as soon as Kylo is aware of it. Hux does it again, more breath than touch and Kylo sighs into it, tries to surge up and complete the kiss.

He’s held back, kept still and a high whine escapes Kylo. He wants more, he always wants more. Hux leans away, his hand moving out of Kylo’s line of sight just before Kylo hears the soft hiss of knife being drawn. Hux ghosts over his mouth again, this time the wet swipe of Hux’s tongue travels along the line of Kylo’s bottom lip. The almost pain in his neck counterbalances the gentleness that Hux displays and Kylo is half hard with wanting.

The tip of the short blade, Kylo knows it’s the one Hux keeps tucked in his boot, traverses from the delicate skin of Kylo’s wrist and up his arm until the point of the blade is tucked beneath Kylo’s ear. The chill of the metal is almost enough to make him shiver, Kylo ruthlessly suppresses it.

“Now, this is the ‘choice’ you have… to stay still and let me do as I please or to struggle and see how sharp I keep my knife,” Hux whispers against the side of his mouth. Kylo can feel Hux’s full lips spread in a smile, he likes to play dangerously. “So, Kylo Ren, how is this any different from destiny?”

“I’m fairly certain that you won’t let me bleed out,” Kylo gasps. He’s not sure if his answer pleases Hux or not, whether it is punishment or reward that has the wickedly honed edge draw a shallow line of fire down the side of Kylo’s throat.

Hux’s reply is wordless hum before he nuzzles under Kylo’s jaw to brush his lips over the vein pulsing in Kylo’s neck. The blade stays steady on the other side, pressing just hard enough to remind Kylo of its presence.

“I would. You know I would,” Hux murmurs into his neck. As quickly as it was there the blade is withdrawn, wiped clean, and returned to its sheath. It’s comforting to know that Hux would abandon him so readily to death, that he would never have to worry about the General going against his basic nature.

Now that the knife is gone, Kylo surges up breaking Hux’s hold on him and straddles the General. He wraps his hands around the pale throat and presses, not enough to choke but with enough pressure that Hux relaxes into the grip. 

There is an edge of desperation to Kylo that claws at him, tells him that what he has with Hux is finite, is ending. He pokes at the fatalism, trying to divine the source but it remains elusive. Just the certainty that soon Hux will be gone.

If he is to lose Hux, this could be the Force warning him, then it will be to Kylo’s passions. They fight hard and fuck harder, continually skirting the edges of safety and sanity. One day, Kylo thinks, one day they’ll go too far. One of them won’t come back.

The dark thought has Kylo pressing harder on the firm column of Hux’s neck, has him suck biting kisses on the full lips that are parted and gasping for air. Kylo grinds his erection against the deceptive firmness of Hux’s abdomen and he can feel Hux’s own hard cock pressing insistently along his thighs.

“I’d destroy worlds for you,” Kylo whispers helplessly against Hux’s mouth. Even with Hux flush against him there is an ache, a loss, an ever widening chasm that swallows Kylo whole.

“I’ve already done that,” Hux manages to gasp out, a smile twisting across his lips. It’s ridiculous but it also happens to be true and something nameless crests and breaks in Kylo. His hands leave Hux’s throat and tear at the crisp uniform, he needs Hux bare to him  _ now _ .

Buttons fly as Kylo uses Force augmented strength to rip open the starched shirt, his fingers scramble at the complicated fly of the jodhpurs, fumbling in his haste. Hux releases a low, disgusted noise at the ruin Kylo is making of his clothes but he can’t bring himself to care. Right now he is a creature of need, shaking and longing to press himself against the stark pale angles of Hux’s body.

Sliding off Hux’s lap as if he has no bones, Kylo sinks to the floor. On the way down he drags his teeth over one sensitive nipple and pauses to suck a bruise near Hux’s navel. One hand tangles again in Kylo’s hair as he licks and winds his way lower pulling the uniform pants open with no help from Hux.

“No, Ren,” Hux tells him clearly, his fingers snagging the cowl of Kylo’s robes, stopping him from closing hand or mouth around the one part of Hux he wants most.

Kylo whines and tries to burrow forward but Hux yanks sharply, pulling Kylo up to knees. There is a frosty gleam in his eyes that tells Kylo this is no joke.

“Why?”

“You don’t even know what you’re doing! Dammit Ren, no!” the last is harshly barked as Kylo cups his hand over Hux’s erection.

“I think you underestimate me,” Kylo says darkly. He massages at Hux’s covered shaft and watches Hux’s pupils expand with desire. He wants Kylo, even without the Force he would be able to smell Hux’s lust.

“You aren’t even here right now… I have no idea how much of what I’m saying you understand,” Hux manages to say as he grabs Kylo’s wrist and squeezes cruelly.

Kylo falls back on his haunches, confused and sure that he  _ isn’t _ understanding Hux. There is no sense to be had, nothing has gone quite how it should. Tilting his head to the side, Kylo is thoughtful.

“I am here, right here in front of you,” Kylo reaches out and places his hand on Hux’s sternum, feeling the warmth beneath his cool fingers.

“You aren’t. I need you awake and aware before we do this again, can you hear me?” Hux’s question shakes the core of Kylo.

“I hear you,” it comes out mechanically and Hux narrows his eyes, disbelief evident in that tiny action.

“Then fucking come back to me,” Hux growls before yanking Kylo forward into a searing kiss.

 

***

 

Everything wobbles and spins as if he’s drunk, the harsh bite of whiskey coating his mouth and lining his throat. He can’t help but think of Ben, his papery voice whispering: “ _ He tastes like tea and whiskey. _ ” Also can’t help diving into the memory of that taste, of chasing it on Hux’s palate until it was all Kylo could perceive.

_ Boy, what do you know of whiskey, _ he had wanted to snide.  _ We didn’t have any until we were allowed to leave the citadel for the first time and had to get shitfaced drunk so as not to bolt and run. _

That hadn’t been entirely true, Han had let him sip at drinks when he’d been younger. He had thought it would toughen Ben up, make him more like the old man and less inclined to the mystic’s life. How wrong Han had been. Ben never liked alcohol all that much, sputtering and coughing when he swallowed more than a few drops. But Kylo would share cups of brandy-laced hot spiced tea with Hux.

There is the subtle nagging awareness of something being out of place, like the rush and burn of liquor going down the wrong way. Cold darkness permeates Kylo’s bones making his joints ache until he chases any spark of warmth.

Slim arms wrap around him and Kylo leans into them for the scant heat they provide. His own skin feels as if a rind of ice has formed so even slight movements make his body crack and fall to pieces.  _ This, _ he thinks,  _ this is what dying feels like. _

_ Time to leave this behind _ , Ben’s voice says in his ear.  _ Time to let go of everything that keeps you trapped here. _

“This is where I belong,” Kylo says to break the silence. His voice sounds raw, as if he hasn’t used it in too long. “Lost. Alone.”

_ No, we deserve so much more. Come back to us, _ Ben’s voice is as soft as a caress. It is full of sweet promise that Kylo shies away from, so deeply ingrained is the belief that he is entitled to so much less.

Bitter salt chases away the flavor of whiskey as Kylo Ren nods. Even if Ben is wrong, anywhere is better than here.

 

***

 

Control, perfect control, that is what Kylo has over the situation. He can never handle this the way Hux would have, with chill precision, but Kylo comes as close as he is able. He ignores both Ben and Anakin to focus on the woman kneeling between them. Her face is open and unguarded; he thinks she looks on him with something suspiciously like love. False affection, of that Kylo is certain.

“How will killing her help?” Anakin sounds so patient that Kylo has to grit his teeth to keep from screaming.

“She’s the reason Hux is dead. It balances the scales,” Kylo grates out, his eyes still locked on Leia. Her eyes are closed and she turns her face away from him, towards Ben. Her profile still looks likes Kylo remembers, age has barely touched her.

“If you truly want balance you need to seek forgiveness, you need to face your actions,” Anakin says.

“You know what it’s like to have the heart ripped out of you, why would you side with her?” Kylo’s controls slips, his voice rises into a shout and he tries desperately to rein in his temper.

“Because it was I who killed her! I handed her to Palpatine to be slaughtered so my rage would form me into his perfect instrument! My weakness was never the light, it was trusting a wizened old monster who told me he had the answers and it cost me everything, Ben, and if I still had hands I would hack them off to spare you before it’s too late.” Anakin pushes back his flop of wavy blond hair and Kylo’s gaze locks onto his hand. No hands, no legs, after he got beaten by his best friend in an attempt to save Padmé, that’s the version Leia Organa likes to tell. Anakin’s sigh though, sounds incredibly human. 

“Don’t follow the same path, I was lucky enough to have someone who never stopped believing in my goodness, someone who never gave up on me,” Anakin’s face is lined with tragedy. Kylo knows his grandfather is speaking of Luke and his uncle’s insistence that Anakin could be saved. Who would care that much for Kylo Ren?

Not his stinking mother, the woman who gave up on him long before he heard the first whisper of Snoke’s voice. Not any of his Knights, they followed him because he had bested them not out of loyalty. Not Hux, because Hux was dead.

“I have no one. Not any more, she made damn sure of that,” Kylo responds woodenly. He does not remember picking up his lightsaber but its cool hilt is in his hand, the gunmetal hue absorbing the light.

“You do; you know you do. He is out there.” Anakin points with no real direction, encompassing everything and nothing. “He cares for you enough to have abandoned his post, to risk everything to find you. Doesn’t he deserve the same from you? Hux will always believe in you and you will always orientate towards him,” Anakin’s voice is soft with compassion.

“No. He’s gone, dead and she killed him,” harsh grief envelopes him as Kylo says the words. He shakes with weakness, ashamed and hollow that Hux’s death still affects him so deeply. He should be using his death to strengthen himself, but just like Han’s death it seems to sap his vitality.

“Is he?” Anakin is all slyness. “Remember what the Force told you.”

Flashes of Hux, vibrant and real surrounding him and infused in the Living Force. How could Kylo ever forget?

“Don’t give up on him… Hux would never abandon you,” Ben adds as a challenge of his own. “Our mother is the same, she never stopped loving us, her only child.”

“She certainly replaced us with Rey,” Kylo hisses. He could feel her presence in the shuttle Leia arrived in, along with that damn Resistance pilot.

A tiny, hurt noise slips from Leia as her gaze turns reproachful. “Untrue and unfair, Kylo. We never turn our back on family.”

“You turned your back on grandfather! On me! Snoke showed me the width and breadth of your treachery, mother! You only wanted me for the power I could bring to you,” Kylo shouts as he sheds his pretense of calm.

“How was Snoke different? Your mother wanted what was best for you; Snoke only wanted you as a weapon,” Anakin says. He has moves so he is standing next to Leia instead of behind her but his hand is still solidly on her shoulder. A nice show of solidarity but it won’t sway Kylo. It can’t.

“I am a weapon! One able to bring the entire galaxy to heel!”

“You are, you can be, more than that,” Anakin shakes his head.

“Why would I want to be? She wanted nothing to do with me once she realized that I could feel the pull from the dark side. She hated me for that, she made sure everyone else hated me as well,” Kylo cries out, the old wounds bursting open in him. When he was still Ben, he had cried himself to sleep at night wondering why his mother was repulsed by him.

“Those were inventions of an old man who doesn’t remember what love is. He had to separate you from anyone who would make you strive for the light,” Anakin is solemn and serious. He stretches his hand out toward Kylo, an offering that Kylo can’t contemplate.

“They didn’t want me for the light, they all shunned me,” Kylo can remember how systematically they all – Han, Leia, Chewie, Luke – had abandoned him. Left him alone with nothing but the voice of Snoke buried deep in his mind offering him a home.

“Did they? Or did you push them away when the nightmares robbed you of sleep so you couldn’t tell what was real? You were so tired, he pushed you beyond your limits until you snapped and severed the links with your family,” Anakin says sadly.

“We did this to ourselves,” Ben tells him.

If it was true, and Kylo wasn’t sure it was, then that meant everything he’d done was based on falsehoods. He’d murdered and destroyed not to build a new order but at the hands of a madman. He was no better than a rabid dog. The only bright spot was Hux and even that was tainted.

Things he never received from Hux scatter through his thoughts – soft fluttering kisses, a breath that sighs over his lips to mingle with his own, hands that trace reverently over his skin as if he’s precious. Brutal memories of teeth sunk deep into his thigh, fingers that left red gouges across his chest and back, the throbbing ache deep within timed to his heartbeat… those were the truth of what they’d had. Useless to mistake their fucking for anything else.

Everything has been bent on the destruction of this one woman. It is the culmination of all his plans, the last piece in the puzzle of Hux’s death. Stalking every thought is the sure knowledge that if he lets his resentment slip the leash for too long, Hux will disappear. If he doesn’t follow through… that renders everything else he’s done useless, pointless.

“You need to release your rage, quench your inner fires,” Anakin says, asking the impossible.

That means letting go of Hux, pretending that the man meant nothing to Kylo. That Hux was expendable, replaceable and the very core of Kylo Ren rebels at such a notion. Even knowing that Hux would have been disgusted by such sentimentality isn’t enough to make Kylo release it.

“I can’t. Her death is the only thing that matters anymore,” Kylo is genuinely apologetic.

“Killing her will seal your fate to the dark side and you will be lost in your delirium. Let go of your hatred, trust that this is a dream and you will wake up. You can have a second chance!” Anakin pleads. “Obi-Wan tried to warn me and I didn’t listen. Don’t make my mistakes!”

Kylo shakes his head, even he doesn’t know if it is in denial or to clear his head. The dark is all he has known for so long, it is what he went through hell for to obtain it, what has fueled him and gave him Hux. The light robbed him of everything that has ever meant anything to Kylo, to Ben.

He can’t think, can’t decide, there are no good choices. Kylo has known since childhood that he was destined for the dark side, known it’s siren call and never once has he doubted it. The death of Han and Hux, they weakened Kylo but if he can draw up the courage he is sure that killing ( _ murderer _ , his conscience whispers) Leia will increase his strength, finally catapult him out of this non-existence, the permanent pull to two opposing sides. He just has to harness it properly. He can do it.

With large, angry strides Kylo heads toward his shuttle. It’s not running away, he just needs distance, a moment’s respite to  _ think  _ without the influence of everybody but himself. Kylo needs nothing but to not be the plaything for once, for a few silent minutes. 

He hasn’t crossed half the distance when he turns back toward Leia. Anakin still stands to her right but Ben has wrapped himself around her in an awkward hug. As Kylo watches with fascination Ben sinks into his mother, disappearing, both of his biggest problems merging into one Yes. Killing her will finally rid himself of Ben.

_ Mystical bullshit has no place in reality. Choices are for those too weak to know their path _ , Hux had said. Kylo knows his path, had been too blind to see it until the Force opened his eyes. Steadied, Kylo realizes there is only one option.

As he closes in on his mother he reaches out, uses the Force to drag her to her feet. Leia’s face is a mask of terror; she knows that death has come for her.

“Kylo, don’t do this,” Anakin tries one more time. He falls silent at the sharp glare Kylo levels at him. The time for talking is done, Anakin is done. No more promises, no more temptations of all the things Kylo could obtain if only he...

Reverently Kylo holds out the hilt of his lightsaber. Leia looks from the dark hilt to her son’s face, uncertain of why he offers it to her.

“Take ahold of it. Be complicit in your fate,” Kylo croons with a small smile.

“I want you to know that I still love you. You’ll always be my little boy,” Leia’s voice is thick with unshed tears but her hands are strong and don’t shake as she places them on the hilt. Kylo is proud of her. This time he knows how to embrace his power.

“I know, mother,” his voice is a promise. Kylo gives a yank, bringing her almost flush with him. The lightsaber is trapped between them, both of their hands pressed into the cool metal.

“I forgive you,” Leia has carefully chosen her last words. She refuses to close her eyes and she stares with calm intensity into Kylo’s eyes that are so like her own.

The lightsaber gives a harsh hiss as it ignites between their bodies, they stand so close that the rosy glow of the blade throws severe shadows on their faces. Leia gasps as her eyes slip closed.

Kylo crumples to the ground at her feet, the blade of his saber planted in his heart.

 

***

 

He is in free fall, unsure and uncertain of what awaits him. He hopes, oh how he hopes... What Hux had said about choices rang true, he didn’t have a choice. He wanted Hux which meant embracing the light. Anakin was right, forgiveness was the answer he needed now. Starting with himself. Kylo Ren had broken a long time ago as a fifteen year old, torn apart by his own darkness and the knowledge that had no one else to blame, but himself, the sole accomplice in his torture. He had handed Ben over willingly and the only way to survive had been to let himself turn into who they wanted him to be.

A charade, but a good one, a successful one, that had completely shattered on the Starkiller, Han Solo’s blood on his hands, Snoke’s orders still ringing in his ears and the howling, debilitating agony of the knowledge that he would never see his father again. Hux had been the only thing still keeping him together. Something Snoke had known, but hadn’t understood. When Kylo Ren fell apart what poured out hadn’t be the darkness that Snoke had spent so many torturous years honing. 

If he truly has been sleeping, wrapped in madness, then if he wakes he can find Hux. He can cast off the chains that bind him to Snoke and work for atonement. He has to believe that Hux will be waiting.

Kylo takes deep, even breaths. His chest expands, muscles stretching in unfamiliar ways as they protest this new movement. Beneath him are silk sheets, luxuriant and hedonistic, nothing Hux would ever countenance.

_ Hux _ . Fear and longing course through him. A tight smile slips over his lips, faltering immediately as he tries to roll towards the heat at his back but his body is weak and unresponsive. How long has he been out? He can feel sunlight on his face.

It takes several tries to pry his eyes open to a room that is unlike anything he has ever shared with Hux and a dazzling shaft of sunlight that slants across his face. Too bright. So fierce Kylo flinches away from it. 

The arm wrapped carelessly about his waist tightens, fingers pet against his side in a bid to calm him. There is a sleepy murmur against Kylo’s shoulder blade, a voice that he has missed, a voice he died for.

It takes effort and Kylo is shaking from the struggle but he manages to turn until he is facing Hux, bed-tousled, half naked Hux, bathed in the golden light that streaks past Kylo’s shoulder and sets his coppery hair ablaze, kissing his alabaster skin with living fire. Beautiful Hux with full, sensual lips gently parted around warm breath and the faint shadow of a smile. His shoulders lift with each gentle drag of air, his pulse a birdwing soft flutter on the far too vulnerable skin of his throat.  _ A..live _ , it sighs,  _ a...live. _

_ See, I told you _ , Ben murmurs and Kylo smiles as he lifts his arms, still so weak, to wrap them around Hux’s neck before pressing his lips to Hux’s, soft with sleep.

“Hux, I’m awake,” he whispers. A flutter of gold-touched lashes. “I’m here.”

Green eyes snap open, sunlight catching in their depths as elation and disbelief war with each other on Hux’s features, a silent battle across the taut skin over his cheekbones, sharp enough to cut transparisteel, his lips darkest bloodied red, the only soft spot in his whole face, too soft for someone that hard, curling now as they fight not to give in to the joy and smile. Joy wins. 

 

*** 

 

Bunny had six weeks to get used to being rung up with strange requests and questions in the middle of the night. Hux is like that, pushing his non-existent circadian rhythm on his subordinates without second thought that some people actually do sleep. 

“Do you smoke?” Bunny hadn’t yet opened her eyes when she answered the hail of her com. 

“No, sir,” she had murmured, fighting her way through the fog of four hours of sleep. “Flip does.”

“Bring me a few,” the General, and oh yes, that was the General, had commanded and then added the unthinkable. “...please.”

Flipside hadn’t stirred when she had pilfered the pack under his bed, murmuring “be careful” without truly waking, words that meant a thousand different things in a thousand different situations.  _ Don’t do that. I got your back. Don’t make me come for you. _

Under her hand the handle’s cool metal feels smooth, safe, a treachery she hasn’t fallen for once in the last weeks. 

Nothing is safe in this life.

“Sir?”

Hux stands with this back turned at the panoramic window overlooking the gorge, naked to the waist, his hair sticking away from his head in an unruly mess. 

“Sir?” Bunny’s finger close tighter around the door, clutching the handle in dread. 

Reaching behind towards her Hux slowly turns his head in the half dark that seems to permeate the room, no matter when she enters. 

She could turn, slam the door, or just plain shoot him. She could. 

Instead she pushes forward and drops the cigarettes in his hand, stepping back to a respectful distance as he lights one. Deep shadows have dug under red rimmed eyes, his lips pressed into a tight line. 

Her eyes fly to the bedroom door and she takes a step before the thought has finished forming. 

“Let him sleep,” Hux mutters, half leaning out the now open window, cigarette in one hand, glass with brandy in the other. 

“Is he….?” she doesn’t finish.

“Asleep.” Hux turns his head and maybe it’s the shadows, but Bunny sees a smile on his mouth.

“Asleep?”

“Do I stutter, Bunny?”  Hux turns in full this time, catching the butt of the cigarette with his lips and a deep drag to expand his chest. He doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes slip shut around the blue smoke, the slow sensual exhale as it unfurls in his brain. She herself can’t get past the sickness the smoke causes, but for Flipside it’s sometimes the only thing that will bring him down after a battle. A bad flaw for a stormtrooper, his only one. 

Hux fingers shake, just like Flipside’s sometimes do when he needs to be in absolute control and mustn’t let go, yet another thing Bunny isn’t supposed to see. 

But now, as his shoulders drop with the calming effect of the tobacco and his face dragged into shadows… She allows herself to look at her General, not that it matters anymore.

Asleep… to be asleep he has had to be awake at some point. And that is good, he woke and that is…

“How is he, sir?” Bunny asks, because he is her patient and she needs to know. She also asks because he is her patient and she wants him to get better, even though Kylo Ren awake will be lightyears from the floppy, smiley weirdo she has come to like.

“Weak as a kitten, but as of yet too happy to notice,” Hux says and makes a face, already clearly appreciating the day this will change, but behind his hooded eyes and the wet, dark lashes he hides a smile that he denies himself otherwise.

Too honest, too open, Bunny thinks and laughs inwardly, as he turns away when the smile breaks free.

She carefully places a nutrition bar on the desk and retreats towards the door. 

“See you in four hours, Bunny,” Hux adds, his smile still lurking in the corners of his mouth where he watches her in the reflection of the window pane. “And thank you.”

Almost, she had almost pushed herself to the thought that killing them was possible now, Kylo Ren no longer helpless, Hux no longer bound and distracted with helping his partner. 

And then he did this. In which world was that fair?

“My duty, sir, and my pleasure.” 

She pushes through the door and walks the first ten steps until she reaches the corner and the rug, then she runs to wake Flipside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Outtakes:
> 
> "there are knives now!"
> 
> "Why are there knives? WHERE are there knives?"
> 
> "Oh, you know, I just thought... everything is better with knives."
> 
> (which, really, explains why we get along so well...)


	6. Standing on the edge of the crater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Standing on the edge of the crater  
> Like the prophets once said  
> and the ashes are all cold now  
> No more bullets and the embers are dead  
> Whispers in the air tell the tales  
> Of the brothers gone  
> Desolation, devastation  
> What a mess we made, when it all went wrong
> 
> Mike Oldfield - Nuclear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warning:  
> Child abuse  
> Mental breakdown  
> That's not how the Force works!
> 
> Song for this Chapter (And the whole fic): [ Nuclear - Mike Oldfield ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IkAp5gAYDUQ)

“Congratulations.” 

Obi-Wan Kenobi rubs the spectral back of his former Padawan who, true to form, manages to be hyperventilating without having lungs. Anakin’s flare for the dramatic didn’t abate one bit with his death and sadly he bequeathed all of it to Ben. Thank the Force, it gave them a good understanding. 

“You brought him back, Anakin.”

“That little shit!” Anakin pushes his hands through his hair and flops back until his back rests securely against Obi-Wan’s chest “I could’ve done without the dramatics. Really.”

“Yes, well…” If Obi-Wan sounds a little smug, he doesn’t bother hiding it. He earned every right to that smugness. “We all have our weight to bear. Don’t we?”

The Force is not a landscape, it’s not a dead room with two brightly blazing living beings that have now been kissing for five minutes, their shared emotions setting everything alight around them. The Force is not a bench to sit on or any other place. If anything it’s a state of being and Obi-Wan Kenobi managed to carve out a more concentrated state of being within it. 

That didn’t mean he always existed within it or that the being that once was Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, truly existed anymore. But the Force remembered him. And he remembered the Force and sometimes it came painfully close enough. 

It had been easier when it had only been him and Yoda and the remnants of what had been Qui-Gon. Anakin… Anakin had always felt too much, been too real and too intricately entwined in all the things around him. It made him the perfect foil to Kylo Ren and utterly ill suited to deal with Hux. 

“You’ll get through to him eventually, Obi-Wan.” Anakin’s earnest words do nothing to kill the apprehension. Saving Ben Solo from himself and his ill advised loyalty to the dark side had only been a start. A doomed attempt if they can’t do the same for Hux. 

And Hux had long ago learned not to feel, not to hope and not to dream.

“If not we’ll have to find a way to kill him.”

“Oh yes, that will go over so well…” Even after all this time, after all these years where he had him by his side again, Obi-Wan still remembers acutely how it feels to miss Anakin Skywalker. His laugh comes easy. 

“Yes, let’s try everything else first.”

Anakin tilts his head back at Obi-Wan’s words and smiles. “You will do it, Obi-Wan. I know it.”

“Can’t be too hard, right? Hard headed brainwashed technocrats are not quite my speciality, but at least he’s reasonable,” Obi-Wan deadpans and notes with glee how it set’s Anakin’s Force presence alight with joy, a first after the stress and pain of trying to awake Ben Solo.

“I’ll take care of the other project… in the meantime,” Anakin snorts and grins. “It’s as if the Force wanted this to happen here and in exactly this way. I sometimes can’t believe how these things come together.”

“ _We_ are the Force, Anakin. And no, we didn’t plan it. We’re just going to use it.”

***

Waking is different with someone there, as is falling asleep. 

Not the empty husk of someone caught in their own world, but lively eyes that build a barrier between the sleeper and everything else. Something that stands before duty, work and command.

It is frightening. Different and new. 

A dare. A challenge. 

Not routine and surely not normal. It’s distracting. 

Work and duty have always been the driving forces in Hux’s life with no need for anything extraneous to draw time and attention away from what was truly important. 

And this is precisely why he is at such a loss now. It is not even noon yet and everything he needs to accomplish for the day is done. 

Conferencing with Phasma first thing in the morning over caf and what the Stormtroopers consider breakfast. Bunny insists on feeding him, reminding him sharply that his example is what Ren will orient on. It’s ridiculous but Hux can’t find it in him, to go up against her about it. 

Trusting Phasma and Reina to take care of the daily minutia of running the Finalizer is not the strain anymore it was two months ago. Hux is not where he should be, yet, by all accounts the First Order hasn’t fallen, his ship hasn’t self destructed and nobody suspects he is anything but hanging in a bacta tank, fighting for his life under heavy quarantine. If he is honest with himself, it grates to be not _that_ essential, at least in this aspect.

The microcosmos that is the research facility still very much revolves around Kylo Ren - doesn’t everything - and Kylo Ren’s existence revolves around Hux. It’s the tether that keeps Hux chained to his side, even less able to find an outlet now that Ren is awake. 

1120 offered to take him up to the roof and shooting, or there is the training facility on the lower levels. Just a few hours, enough to curb that excess energy coiling within that ‘too much’ that has always been his problem. Hux catches himself pacing in long strides through the outer office and roots his feet on the spot, barely catches his fingers scouring the insides of his palms. 

Right through the half open door he can see Kylo Ren sleeping and he knows he’ll go nowhere. 

Yesterday Ren had woken early, his improved state of consciousness and the severely cut dosage interacting in a way none of them had predicted. 

It wasn’t so much that Ren had woken, but the fact that Hux had not been there, allowing himself time outside, only a few minutes, but it had been the wrong few minutes. Ren might be too weak to really do something about his panic, but finding him collapsed on the cold concrete outside their rooms, blood running down his arm as tears had streaked over his face needed no repetition. 

Hux had held him afterwards, clamped his arms around Ren’s ribcage, filling his ears with his voice while Bunny had attempted to give him a sedative. Nothing strong, just to calm his skyrocketing heartbeat. Not even that had gone without a hitch. Hux had had to hold Ren’s eyes closed with his hand, because the sight of the needle had sent him into another tailspin. 

That had been yesterday. This morning Ren had woken Hux with a smitten smile and whispered kisses, awake and alert and there. Ren knew what was going on, he had managed the short walk to the bathroom on his own and had downed two of Bunny high energy food replacement drinks, but Hux had still had to hold him while the medic gave him additional shots and then the third to last dosage of what she had come to call the mind bender. Though now it bent reality instead of Snoke’s dreamscape.

Ren whispers not of blood and murder anymore, but half imagined conversations with his grandfather’s ghost that Hux doubts much less than he should. 

It is a marked improvement to the horrid depravity Ren had sunk into previous, though Hux has to admit that, in a twisted way, it is gratifying to know that if he were murdered, Kylo Ren would drag the galaxy down for him. 

Ren twitches lazily on the edge of Hux’s sideline now, drawing his arms close to push onto his back with his fingers grappling restlessly against the forest green sheets. Ren looks good against the dark color. His pale skin is almost illuminated against the rich verdant tone, while his hair seems to fade into it. A mind less prosaic than Hux’s might compare him to a mythical creature, half born of the sea and just as mercurial in temper and form. Just then, Ren kicks his legs in a fit of impatience and the sheet slips to reveal the inflamed wine-dark scar that stands out lividly against his side. 

Hux’s fingers spasm, wanting to touch that skin and rub over the scar to feel the difference in skin tone and texture. He glances at the time but time still remains before Bunny returns with the next shot. 

He doesn’t ponder what he’s going to do; it isn’t that it doesn’t bear thinking about but Hux knows if he thought this through he would find a reason to stop himself. Instead, he focuses on the fact that this will give him something to do that is useful and might prove beneficial to Ren. That scar on his side is dense and fibrous, Hux knows it will impede Kylo’s movements and knowing how much he wields his sword with his whole body, it could hamper his fighting. What he’s planning will help the healing process. It isn’t an excuse to touch.

The lightly scented oil Hux fishes out of a desk drawer has a camphoraceous, woodsy fragrance with a sweet pine and honey undertone and a deep platinum color as Hux spreads it across the thick, rubbery tissue on Ren’s abdomen. 

He rubs in slow circles at first, working the concoction in the way he does with his hands, adding a generous second pour when the pads of his fingers keep catching on the chapped flakes of leftover scab.

Hux can’t remember the last time he felt this calm doing something so trivial.

The gentle sighs Kylo voices into the pillow keep Hux’s fingers working, massaging the area in irregular circles until the skin glistens in the soft golden light of the bedside fixture. When the front of the wound is saturated and the scarlet color has deepened from the contact, Hux gently nudges Kylo until he rolls to reveal the exit wound from the bowcaster bolt.

This is even worse, a deep ugly crater, almost purple in color with ragged edges that pull at the surrounding skin and draw it into uneven folds that should have been treated months ago. As Hux starts to spread the oil across it he finds the borders of the wound thrown not only by the scar tissue itself, but by the tight knots of destroyed muscle underneath. No matter how diligently he kneads it, the tension just seeps back in from the tightly coiled planes of Kylo’s back, so he works his way outward.

His reward is an outright obscene moan from Kylo, when the tight muscle finally give on and Ren practically melts into the bed. His body stretches on a shudder of relief, seemingly taking up twice the room it should all of a sudden.

Hux scrambles up onto his knees with a soft snort to get better leverage and massages, spurred on by Kylo’s pleased noises, until his own hands and shoulder ache beyond the reasonable, no matter how unwilling he is to stop.

Kylo’s arms are akimbo across the sheets, half healed welts on his wrist stark against the paleness of his skin. Hux stares at the lacerations, the memory of how those wounds came to be flitting through his mind. 

The familiar anger at the physicians of this facility, at Snoke, rises up like bitter bile. Hux needs Ren to heal faster, needs him to regain the strength that was stolen from him, visceral necessity for Hux to be able to move forward in his planning. He must be allowed to take action before he goes crazy here. 

With a snarl, Hux snags the flask of oil, pulling back, before the urge to throw it has fully registered. His fingers clamp down around it; the muscles of his arm tremble with the desire to destroy something, anything.

“Hux…” Ren sighs, his voice breathy in a way that usually means he’s well sated. “More.”

He can’t help it, Hux begins to quietly laugh. Ren is always a greedy bastard. With another chuckle, he slicks his hands and wraps them around one of Ren’s too thin wrists. He gently rubs at the bruised and scabbed skin hoping that the oil will help reduce the scarring here. 

Ren isn’t particular about his body, the scars will mean nothing to him but there is no reason to remind him of his ordeal, not when he is barely recovered to begin with. And for Hux it is something he can focus on. He can be of use, dutiful.

A flicker of heat in Hux’s gut works its way outward, flooding through his system. He’s always known that the was covetous, controlling, domineering. Strange that he never thought how that might translate over to a person. That he wants to protect Kylo Ren of all people seems absurd, ridiculous.

He snags Ren’s other wrist and gives it the same treatment, swirling the oil around while his mind wanders without particular direction or sense. Soon they stutter to a halt as he kneads the excess oil into Kylo’s hand, slipping his fingers over the palm and it’s callouses before sliding his fingers between Kylo’s long digits. 

It’s nice, Hux decides, just sitting here and not thinking. Pleasant.

Kylo has drifted off again, the only tension on his face the slight upward draw of his full lips. Hux shifts himself up toward the ornate iron headboard, propping himself up with a small sigh, fingers still tangled with Kylo’s. It’s for him, he thinks, as the simple contentment of the moment washes over him and he lets himself float in it with Kylo snuggled against him.

***

Bunny comes to give Ren his shots, to some atrociously sweet flirting from Ren and Hux can see her fall for the nutcase, the way her eyes light up with joy. He doesn’t understand it. 

It’s useless anyways. Ren sees the injector and locks up, breath catching in his throat, although he knows the dosage will not cage him into his head again. He knows, he needs the last two doses to give his body time to properly phase out of it. Still, he ends up in Hux’s embrace, panting with shallow gulps of hair, his mind clawing at the borders of Hux’s with the desperation of a man screaming for shelter in a raging storm. 

It’s a relief for all involved when he falls unconscious. 

Hux has no qualms leaving Bunny as his guardian for a while. Her little infatuation will keep Ren safe and Hux needs elsewhere to be. 

“Dr. Iymas,” he greets with cheap joviality upon entering the cell. “We have a little problem, I’m afraid.”

In the back of the bare room that cuts deeply into the founding stone the facility the former head physician turns slowly. Pity is hard found these days and Hux doesn’t bother, but maybe the man’s greyish skin, the cuts and bruises on his face and the bandage that wraps over the empty cavity where his right eye had once sat dampen Hux’s darker desires. Then he thinks of the sounds Ren made as he pressed his face into Hux’s hand covering his eyes.

Dragging him up to his former office would be too much energy expended on someone simply not worth it, but in an astonishing stroke of foresight, Dr. Iymas had a small panoramic window installed on the detention/medical level. A measure of entertainment for the staff, no doubt. 

There is no joy in this. Iymas is craving death as his only escape, but there is satisfaction in his dying screams. 

Hux closes the door to the rest room silently, cutting the howl of wind that sweeps in through the broken window. The officer’s dagger slides without sound back into the sheath in his right boot. In his hand the fresh eye wobbles lazily in a preservative container, good for another month of false reports. 

Hux lights the cigarette as he makes his way upstairs. He’s only been gone an hour. Ren will still be asleep and Hux can shower first. 

Bunny sits in the armchair as he walks into the bedroom, her softly pretty face marred by a frown as her gaze lands on Hux. Then the corner of her mouth tilts up.

***

Hux watches the liquid gold of Iymas brandy slosh lazily against the crystal confines of the tumbler in his hand, before his gaze is inevitably drawn back to the twinkling beauty of the trees overshadowing the gorge. 

Deep furrows ache on his arms, courtesy of yet another panic attack of Ren’s. The last. There will be no more injections. No more need for drugs. And maybe that will make the next few days a bit bumpy as the last remnants of the psychotropic agents are washed out of his bloodstream, but he’ll never again arch into Hux’s embrace, so broken on a fundamental level, even though he should be kept together by the knowledge that he is Kylo Ren and can set the galaxy on fire. 

But he is alright. Not good yet; changed, but if the last day and his few waking hours have shown one thing, then that Kylo Ren is himself again. It is Hux who isn’t.

He should be standing on the bridge of his ship right now, the impeccable picture of a First Order officer, and plan the downfall of the Resistance. Hux should be laying the galaxy at Snoke’s feet at this very moment, not plan their Supreme Leader’s end, praying to entities that don’t exist for his only wish: stop feeling. 

Go back to who he was. A being of duty, of purpose, raised to lead, not to doubt. 

Outside dark clouds curl into endless churning formation, a new storm brewing, battering the small complex with endless walls of rain. 

There are few pilots able to land in that weather. It keeps them safe for yet another day and him from duty for another night, cozy with a bottle of alcohol and treason on his mind. Because if killing Snoke hadn’t been on the agenda before now, it was fast becoming a priority.

As he fills the glass, his fourth, with precise movements, his mind churns around the truth like the sharp, smoky liquid does around an invisible center in the glass. A tiny maelstrom, narrowing in towards the one inevitable point: 

Was any of what he endured really worth it? 

The brandy burns a pleasant line of darkness down his throat, leaving warmth in its path. He is still too sober, if his thoughts turn endlessly on the question whether treason has become his duty. Snoke does not care for the First Order. Hux does. All his life had had only the goal to make him the best. The instrument for revenge against the Republican usurpers, the one to bring back glory.

Out of that half formed idea of a person his father and the Academy had formed the best he could become. As was their job. Hux served. It is _his_ job. And if he doesn’t have that… 

Snoke doesn’t care for order. He doesn’t care for stability or the state of the galaxy. 

Snoke cares for chaos, uses it in ample amounts and tears everything asunder in its wake, as evidenced by the sorry state of Kylo fucking Ren, a man who came with a good deal of volatility to begin with, but also a sharp mind and sometimes glimpses of brilliance on the battlefield. A man who before anything needed stability and a safe frame of reference to find his own equilibrium. 

Snoke had decided to either own him or destroy him and when his puppet hadn’t done as Snoke wanted… Because of Hux. Because Kylo had wanted Hux more than he had wanted power. More than he had wanted one minute of calm from his out of control mind. 

Hux’ glass shatters against the wall, a lone counterpoint to his enraged yell.

_Free will is an illusion. Duty is eternal._

His father. Hux Sr. always going on about duty. Until it hurt. Do what you are told, or else… 

_“Sir, may I?” “No, twenty push-ups.” “Yes, sir.”_

Until the punishment had become self-serving. A point of pride. 

Sometimes at the Academy he had still found himself doodling on the corners of notes, superfluous, cheap and childish. Hux had been too weak to do it himself, so he had taken the evidence to the head of the Academy and had let his father take care of it. He was a lot of things, but he had never been a coward.

The pain had done the trick eventually. Punishment to eliminate unwanted behaviour. 

Reward to create obedience. 

Just like they had done with the Republic. The Hosnian system had been punishment for their transgressions, unwanted behaviour. 

“Billions of people,” an inner voice supplies, one that doesn’t even sound like himself anymore. Perhaps he should cut back on the brandy at some point.

“They had a choice.” Hux grinds out. It sounds weak. Weaker than he likes. “Nobody forced them to support the Republic.”

“As you had one, Hux?” 

At that he stills, freezes in midmotion, his arm already reaching for the bottle on the impeccably clean desk. He finishes the movement out of spite and snatches the bottle, drowns the thought in one smooth motion. It comes far too easy to him. 

If only Phasma were here. Her intelligence and dispassionate thought processes serve him well, when he is working through a problem, as do her steady presence and her ability to know exactly when to talk and when to remain silent

Unlike the voices in his head. This place, Kylo’s state, the work cut out for him, it’s getting to him and with each passing day it gets harder.

“It’s ok,” his subconscious says. “I understand.” It doesn’t sound like something out of his own head. 

The voice is disconcertingly familiar, a pressing knowledge at the back of Hux’s head that he heard it before, male and wry, perfect core accent. For one blazingly bright moment between one draught from the bottle and the next, Hux knows who it is. Then it passes.

Around him the office is as empty as it was, silent but for his too fast breaths and the gentle patter of the rain againsts the panoramic window. No wisps of blue that pass by mirrors, no...

Kylo lies curled up, his arms snuggly choking the life out of the bunched up blanket in his embrace. Hair obscures his face, but Hux already knows the expression of smiling peace on it, just like all the other times he checked the man on the bed is deeply asleep.

“It’s not him,” Hux hears and twists his head, to look over his shoulder, only to find the empty office at his back.

“I know, you’re too far together to be _his_ voice. It speaks for you being something from my own consciousness.” 

Hux softly closes the door and downs another swallow of brandy. Knowing yourself means knowing your needs. A conversation partner. An equal on equal footing to break up the silence and take apart the pressing problems he is facing. 

He smothers a half-smile, smug in the knowledge that the only person on par with his mind is himself. Well then, may the game commence. May it lead to a viable plan to fulfill this ominous destiny that deviates so far from the one he had been handed at birth. Not serve. Save. 

The objective changed, but below, the arsenal stays the same. He will save the First Order from Snoke. If the Supreme Leader stands in the way of their greatness, he must go, because this _is_ the final objective: The glory of the Empire stands above all.

_“I am hungry, sir.” “So is the Empire, BH-1205. What have you done to serve it and earn the reward of your own comfort.” “Nothing, sir.” “Then why should it feed you, BH-1205?” “I will serve it, sir! I will lay down my life for the glory of the empire. It’s greatness will be my duty, my only duty, sir! The nourishment I receive is not for my comfort, it is an investment in the future superiority of the First Order.”_

That had earned him that day’s ration bar and ended a streak of hunger BH-1205 had brought upon himself by breaking his gun in a fall. Guns had been invaluable at that point, much harder to procure than soldiers and in his carelessness Hux had done the still young First Order a great disservice. At least, he had never repeated it. 

“Let me introduce you to a revolutionary concept, Hux.” This time Hux doesn’t look over his shoulder. It’s the brandy and he will not embarrass himself by acknowledging he hears voices when he’s drunk. “It’s called individuality.” 

Nobody sees Hux flinch, but he knows he did it, nonetheless, the helpless hiss fading into the twilit room. Pressing his lips together helps nothing to dissuade his own advocatus diaboli, it doesn’t...doesn’t… “The concept of the worth of a single individual as per their unique talents, personality and presence, as opposed to their uniform usefulness.”

“Oh, do shut up, will you? I was a stupid, stupid artist. Caught in a dream that shackled my potential to notions of beauty.” He grabs another glass. Even though the aim is to get as drunk as possible, it’s no excuse to forego his upbringing and the class that is his birthright. “Beauty does not feed people. Beauty does not lead your troops or defend your ships, it does not protect your people from famine and sickness.”

“You wanted to become a doctor.”

“And? What of it? I would have been a mediocre doctor as compared to a brilliant General.”

“I was a General. But I was allowed to be so much more.” 

“Then you weren’t the best.” 

Hux stares at the glass in his hand, again caught in a taste of memory that flits along the outer edge of his consciousness. The idea that he knows. The bloody brandy only makes it hard to remember what. 

He’s always been a good son, not perfect perhaps, but good. Not a complete disgrace. Hux shakes his head as if to clear it of the voice. This way lies madness. 

It chips the well ordered walls that are definition and armor of his existence, ones he painstakingly built though the strict training of his youth. 

“You know what it’s called when some beats a five year old to within an inch of his life and then locks him into a dark, soundproofed room for hours, right?” The voice sounds sympathetic and Hux catches his own crude gesture at the last moment, that is the way of a lesser man. 

“It made me stronger. It did it’s intended job.” Hux’s words are clipped and to the point, absolute and secure in his understanding of the program. 

“You were already strong, Hux, you’ve always been strong. You were born that way and no one can take it from you. Why torture a five year old when a reward system would work so much better? Why tear you down when you could have been built up into greatness? Why do it this way unless he enjoyed it?” 

The accusation in the last words makes Hux want to break something. Throw this glass, too, grind it into crystalline shards beneath his boot heel.

“It was a proven program, it showed that it would work with children younger than teenagers who had already been groomed for command, a direct derivative of the way the Jedi raised their young. A concept that has been highly effective for thousands of years.” 

“That is not…” 

“It showed that my father was _right_ , dammit. It has benefitted the First Order immensely and someday the whole galaxy will see it for the innovation it was,” Hux snarls, indignation written in every tense line of his body.

“The Jedi never used violence. We never forced a boy too young to even understand to go against every instinct of self preservation to feed our own need for control.”

“That is not what he did,” Hux hisses sharply, but the voice pays him no heed. Just as his father didn’t. Except his father had had that right.

“You didn’t deserve that, Hux. You were too young to understand why you were being punished. What was done to you was little more than beatings, much like the ones you witnessed being administered to Kylo and for as much reason,” the voice rationalizes, paying none of Hux objections heed, and its poison drips slowly into Hux’s mind, flows inexorably around every block he puts up. He wants to dispute the point, but what is there to dispute. The punishment/reward system is the basis of the training process. The fact that is was misused on Ren doesn’t negate that. He could have told Snoke. There always needs to be a fixed endgoal.

“I came out just fine. There’s nothing wrong with me, there’s nothing wrong with Kylo that time won’t fix,” Hux rebuts and chokes of the little whisper in his mind, that asks what makes it right, if it was wrongly used on Ren...

“Are you sure? I know you’re willing to risk that with yourself, but are you willing to do the same with Kylo?”

“I’m fine,” Hux repeats, unable to answer the question the voice is asking. Because he knows he wouldn’t risk Kylo’s sanity.

“Mmmm. You’re so fine that you have to place each sheet of paper exactly two fingers width from the edge of the desk. Just as you were taught. You’re so fine that each sheet has to be perfectly parallel.”

“Order. Order to build a framework for the mind. My Father knew exactly what he was doing.” But what if….? Hux empties the glass, drowning himself in the burning pain in his esophagus. He can’t. 

There is nothing there in doubting Brendol Hux, but a thread that, once unraveled, will turn into unmitigated chaos. A crime against himself, against the First Order, worse than speaking Kylo Ren’s birthname. 

Hux doubts the future, not the foundation. Not of the Order, not of himself, not of… “Ben Organa-Solo,” murmurs the voice and Hux closes his eyes as tears threaten to spill free, chasing the warmth his soul yearns for.

“I needed that discipline to develop myself,” he whispers. “It was that training that made me adaptable.” If nothing else, it made him a survivor. Everything that is his father’s son needs to follow the rules that were laid out for him, a survival mechanism that has become a way of life.

The soft scratch of paper on the desk is a choking warning call. He dreads what he will find, but Hux opens his eyes anyways, facing the challenge head on, as he has been raised to do. Not that he needed to be raised to it. That, he is.

The finger’s deviation of the stack of notes mocks him. The paper itself a mockery of the outdated means the First Order has to resort to, cut off from the galaxy’s resources. The outer edge of of the stack still rests perfectly centered to the desk’s corner, the other feathers out in irregular intervals, fanned by a negligent hand. 

A absent minded lick over his lips buys Hux a second. His nails scraping over the insides of his hands another. He plants his feet thoroughly onto the thick carpet and repeats in an endless circle that this is nothing. Just a slight distraction. The sheets are in order, sorted chronologically. 

His teeth gritted, he looks away. Another second, another before he reaches out and aligns the stack with a deep, desperate breath.

For a moment of perfect peace they stay in place, then several blow across the desk. One flips over.

Hux’s refusal alone to close his eyes is a show of strength. He will not be intimidated. This is not who he is. He sorts, ruling disorder. He mustn’t be ruled by it. And he will not be. 

He will not lose his temper over something that insignificant, after all he put up with Kylo Ren in his own personal space on several occasions. This is just his small personal sanctuary, a small reward for all he does - with deliberate slowness and precision he straightens the stack again, keeping his mind carefully blank - the right to organize his own desk in a way he likes.

Then the papers scatter to the floor. 

He has no defense against the tremor that shakes him, but to close his eyes. He will not be... will not...

His scream rips through him.

“What do you want?” he yells to the empty room, perfectly aware how ridiculous this must seem. His fists are balled at his sides, his whole body so tense it feels like it’s going to shatter. His mind is grasping at straws trying desperately to understand, he needs to pass this test, needs to ace it.

Jittery spectres pierce his thoughts, not quite words, not quite formed ideas, nothing but negations of everything. There is nothing to win. No test to pass. Nothing to ace. It doesn’t matter how perfect he is. It doesn’t matter if he isn’t.

The answer when it comes to him is just as intangible as the voice that speaks it. “To help you. And to help Ben.”

“And who are you?” Hux asks raggedly and remembers the desert, a low, ironic laugh.

“… if I told you I was Obi-Wan Kenobi you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Of course you are…”

Hux laughs, it’s long and deep and genuine. Obi-Wan Kenobi. General fucking Kenobi. Jedi Master, namesake of Kylo Ren. Oh. This is rich. He’s cracked. Lost it all if he thinks Obi-Wan Kenobi is talking to him from beyond the grave.

As the laughter dies out, Hux can feel tears on his cheeks. He’s losing everything and he needs to find a way to shore things up before he loses Kylo as well.

“...you can’t do this alone, Hux, this path you have stepped upon is too fraught with danger, with temptations and false turns.” 

He looks as he had in the dream. A man of Hux’s age, dressed in brown robes, well groomed beard and sad, bright eyes.

“I tipped the balance already,” Hux whispers, not remembering and not caring, how he ended on the floor with the couch at his back. 

“Don’t talk to me again,” and just like that he jerks back into himself, slots back into his mind, the place he knows, belongs to. He won’t give in to Kenobi’s emotional manipulation and the blackmail. He won’t let them have Ren. Snarling Hux pushes to his feet, finding hold on the desk. 

It is not a testament to how drunk he is, that he hisses at the papers and stalks to the bedroom. He overdid it. He overdid the brandy and this is the price he has to pay. Punishment. Deserved. Well deserved.

Stumbling to the bed, he hits his shin against the frame. As if he expected something else but pain. Ren’s smile, perhaps. Someone to grab him and hold him together for once. Just once. Is that too much to ask?

As if on cue, Ren turns and Hux allows himself a short flicker of joy. So yes, maybe it’s not too much to ask. Nobody is there to see how he reaches out already to touch, when Ren opens empty eyes and smiles. 

Every muscle of Hux’s locks in place, frozen by cold dread, as Kylo’s dreamy voice whispers his name. The last curse. The true punishment. “Hux.”

The name tethers on the edge of Hux’s consciousness, his eyes are locked onto the empty pools that are Ren’s. Recognition shimmers on their surface, but below… nothing. 

This was the last dose. It’s supposed to be over. They had made it. 

The understanding drops and falls and splashes on the back of Hux’s hesitantly outstretched hand like the mockery of all the emotion he pretends he is not capable of. Hux bolts. 

Already half to the door he catches himself and turns. Out there are his Stormtroopers and they mustn’t see him like this. Ever. He’s shaking like a leaf and scalding hot tears hit his lips. Is he crying? Why in all hells is he crying?

The bathroom door locks with comforting finality, the wide open shower stall the size of his childhood closet unbelievably inviting. Falling inside is easy, the pain of impact a warm welcome to him. Hux’s hands fumble already to wrench the water on and on coldest possible setting. It stings like ice, needling and pelting against him, soaking his clothes and he curls up and cries and cries and cries. Someone is calling his name. It doesn’t sound like Ren.

He can remember crying like this as a child, sobbing so hard he made himself sick and it hurts and hurts. Grief, he thinks and automatically his thoughts go to the Hosnian system. “Billions of people,” said Obi-Wan Kenobi. Children, Hux hears, people who loved like he loves Kylo Ren. And a Million survivors to bear the loss. 

“I’m awake.” these words had sounded like the first fluttering whisper of morning, a startled heartbeat that had then flowed into a slow stream of disbelief, of hope and into the shimmering pools of a pair of dark eyes that had watched him with glee. Kylo Ren had lain bathed in golden sunlight that played off his unruly locks and his alabaster skin like the finest artist could never copy. And he had smiled. 

“I’m here.”

Maybe Hux deserved the punishment. This was the universe’s way of telling him how much he hadn’t deserved the happiness of that moment. 

He hadn’t deserved pushing up onto his elbow to lean over the languid form of Kylo Ren, rolling him onto his back without resistance. Hux hadn’t deserved the curl of his lover’s mouth as lips had parted and welcomed him with a hitched breath and the brush of shy fingertips up his side. He hadn’t deserved the horrid taste of morning breath and the softness of those lips and slender fingers that had curled into the embrace of his own. He hadn’t deserved the dark whiskey color of those eyes that never fluttered shut throughout the kiss. Never closed. He hadn’t deserved the breathless laugh that had been his alone and chased away the sour taste of tears of painful relief. 

It hadn’t been a gift, after all. Only a prelude for the final blow to break him. A death sentence made worse by his own survival. 

In his lungs fire coils, eats up the air he should be breathing, paints faint black shadows across the blurry lines of his vision. He’s shaking, burning with a fire not even the cold water can contain. Burning like those planets burned. There is nothing solid for him to hold onto, he can’t find a solitary thing that will stop his descent.

With chattering teeth, his hands clutch into his arms, dig into the flesh to find some purchase, dig deeper when he can’t feel them, not his touch, not the pain, even though he can see blood.

Reaching out is the logical conclusion, the tiles are real, they are real and he can grab and hold on… They are real, they must be, and the water is running down, droplets, rivulets, so close, so different, all the same from a distance, but up close each different, like people.

The concept of individuality, Kenobi said.

“Hux!” he yells now, panic coloring his voice. “He is alright. He is awake!”

“No,” Hux whispers at the accusation, “I’m sorry.” 

The water does nothing to cool the heat of the tears that drop unhindered onto his lips, heavy and coppery and guiltily and no matter how tight he presses his teeth, they still flow into his mouth to drown him. Around him everything turns red with the blood he has spilled. “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry can never be enough, not when they shout his name again and he can’t tell if it’s in recrimination or if it’s his father.

He can’t let Father see him like this.

In the distance the drums of war play his last march in an orchestral crescendo with the heavy caliber shots of the firing squad. Punishment. Or is it the crack of a leather belt on skin desensitized by cold? Boots that kick at him, aiming for all the tender spots. It doesn’t matter, it can be all of it. He looks down at the blood that stains his hands.

In the distance the pounding of drums increases in tempo, shatters… 

“I’m sorry,” he keens and offers his bloody hands in penance. “I’m sorry.”

The warmth that is Kylo Ren wraps around him, transforms the painful ice into gentle warmth.

Ren’s lips are moving mutely, forming words like precious pearls that each drop unheard into the drain, swallowed up by a red maelstrom. 

“I’m sorry,” Hux whispers and leans up, touching lips to the snow of Ren’s face, sullying the pristine beauty with red, too. They’re alike. Him and Ren. Together in this. 

“Come back, Hux, come back. I’m here for you. Just stay. I have you. Don’t leave me.”

“Yes.” Hux stares at him, chasing the broken feeling of wrongness that he knows is there, somewhere under that litany, somewhere between the promises of safety he doesn’t deserve. 

But he can’t stop himself from curling into the protection that Kylo offers, letting the strength of Kylo Ren blanket him.

“He killed my mother,” Hux’s whisper is swallowed by the noise of rushing water, he still speaks the words against Ren’s chest, lips brushing over bones with each syllable. “She was nice to me.” And Ren, of course, never needed his ears to hear.

“I thought he’d kill Reina too.” A sob.

“Never show your love.”

“I know, Hux. I remember,” Kylo says, low and soothing as he rocks Hux back and forth. "It’s alright now, he can’t hurt you any more.”

“He made me stand in ice water for hours before beating me. I had asked to become a doctor.”

Kylo is the one to make a strangled sound this time.

“I’m sorry. I killed them. And they loved. Loved like I… I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s ok. It’s all going to be fine now,” Kylo’s voice is still low, his fingers brushing a beating heart’s rhythm through Hux hair, slow enough to almost miss the frantic edge.

It is too easy to lose himself in this, the warmth, the heartbeat under his cheek, the soothing heat that sickers into his soul. Obi-Wan, he thinks. ‘Shhhh’ he hears.

“It was for the First Order. But it wasn’t order. It was for Snoke and his chaos. For his gain,” Hux gnashes his teeth. “It had no sense. I thought it was for peace, to make it quick. I lied. I’m sorry. It was all lie. All of it.” with a shuddering exhale Hux pulls his legs closer, until he is curled into a tight ball, vanishing completely into the impossible circumference of Kylo Ren’s embrace. ‘Ben’s,’ whispers the voice in his ear and Hux can’t be bothered to be annoyed.

“You did what you thought was necessary. Five worlds in exchange for thousands of planets. It might have been a lie but you believed in the long run you’d be sparing lives. Protracted battles would have killed just as many,” Kylo whispers as Hux twists in his grip so he can stare at him. “You can come back from it; make it right.”

“There is no making this right! It hurts, Ren… Ben… it hurts so much. I’m sorry. Just.. don’t go away again. You’re the only bloody thing I have. I should die. I deserve to die,” Hux chokes out the fear clawing at him again, making him feel trapped and wild.

“NO!” Kylo shouts it sharply, the word exploding out of him. A sharp command in expectation of immediate obedience and Hux has reacted with the instinctive terror of a child before he understands. 

Ren wipes a trickle of blood from his lips as Hux comes to, cowering in the opposite corner of the shower stall, too aware all of a sudden of the image he presents. Blood flowing into his mouth where he bit through his lip, running down his chin to mingle with the destruction he wrought in his fingernails. Wet. Despairing over the lives he took, as if he can bring them back if he only suffers enough. 

Crying over spilled milk like a random five year old, hoping to change the course of events if he only believes hard enough instead of taking the fallout, standing unbowed for the mistakes he made. A man takes his beatings, he doesn’t cringe like a basic coward. Hux’s back creaks as he straightens, staring ahead the whole time it takes him to crawl to Kylo Ren to bend his head and expose the back of his neck.

“You can’t die,” the lunatic whispers and gathers Hux back into his arms. “Not again. I won’t let you.” 

It is possibly the most Kylo Ren answer Hux could have gotten, his laugh choking on his own tears as he welcomes the foreign thoughts into his own mind, breathing in the faint notes of a lullaby. Alderaan, Hux thinks and buries his face in Ren’s, weeping again.

***

“BUNNY!”

GB-5601 shoots upright in her bed, her sidearm in hand before she notices she is alone. Flipside is on patrol, his bed orderly made and empty. SW-1120 is off duty, but he took a squad room next door, making full use of the fact that the quarters had been built for twice the number of troops. 

Twisting out of bed, Bunny grabs her medical bag, waiting for a repeat of the alarm.

It doesn't come. Instead a plea of “help!” invades her mind, the voice familiar yet foreign, known more in cadence than tone. 

She should be concerned that Kylo Ren is in her head, but after almost two months with Hux and Ren so close she isn't shocked by anything anymore. 

Feet stop outside their door, heavy booted feet, the step belonging to Flipside and without pause, she wrenches the door open.

“You heard that? “ She asks and Flip stares. His face has gone chalk white, his eyes glowing with terror in the shadows.

He nods.

“Ooooook. I'll go and check it. "

He stops her with a hand to her chest. “I'm coming. “

Winding her way around his body is not difficult. Whatever he heard, he’s massively rattled or maybe she is so used to the weirdness by now that she just doesn't care anymore.

“Forget it, Flip. I'm welcome. You're not. Ren called for me and he will not take lightly to you breezing in with a gun drawn.“ Bunny pushes past him and walks towards the stairwell. “Go back to your post, Flip, I got this.”

“Bunny? Bunny!” he runs after her, his long legs eating up ground in a way hers never could. “Did he hurt you?”

“What?” 

The question is ridiculous. Even at his worst, even now as he is awake or maybe especially now, Kylo Ren never hurt her. Not in his panic or his helplessness. He smiles when she walks into the room. Very much still the smiley, dopey idiot he had been before he woke up. Only for her. To her massive relief.

“He wouldn't, “ She smiles, aware of the lie, but willing to pretend to enjoy the time she has. “Kylo Ren loves me.” The words throw her commander enough to let her go.

Hux is not in the office when she enters. 

He is a blue-lipped, shivering mess in Kylo Ren’s arms, face and hands covered in blood, his body wrapped in several towels and a thick blanket that Bunny can't remember having seen before.

“Hey,“ Bunny whispers upon entrance, “What happened?“

Within the First Order several stories make the rounds, warning hapless Stormtroopers not to come too close to Kylo Ren. Unpredictable, they say, murderous, dangerous merciless. The day Bunny met him he was all of those, but he was also a man who, even in his dreams cried for her General. 

A man that had been barely more than a bloody animalistic mess and that she had helped Hux wash, clean the wounds of and put to bed. Chances were, that that had changed the narrative in her head. Or it had changed the man. Maybe all of it.

The Kylo Ren she has know for all of two days now loves tea with milk and the heavy sweetness of jarran nutrition drinks. He smiles at her and asks her about Hux when he isn’t near to hear it. He’s afraid of needles yet still takes the injections without lashing out. He looks unbearably young in sleep. Right now, he looks desperate. 

“I woke up and he had locked himself in the bathroom. Screaming.” His eyes are the visual to his desperate scream in her head. Bunny needs one look at the remains of the bathroom door to put together the rest.

“Is any of that blood yours?” she asks and already has her bag open, grabbing scanner, wound covering and sedative. 

“Cut my hand. Hux has priority. “

“You're his priority, Ren,” Bunny snarls and for a second wonders if anybody outside of this room ever received permission to call him that. If anybody but Hux will be alive to make use of this permission when they leave.

“I'll take care of him, then I'll take care of you.” She throws him a bandage “in the meantime, put that on. You can't afford to lose any blood.”

The disappointment when no resistance to her command comes is entirely fake and immediately forgotten when she bends down to Hux.

Her fingers are gentle as she pulls back the layers of cloth Kylo has bundled him up in. Now, as she is this close, she sees the hands that hold the General tremble. 

The scanner tells her nothing that her gaze hasn’t already. It can’t tell her why or how or why now. 

“I’ll wrap and tape his fingers,” Bunny calls over her shoulder from the bathroom sink while she mixes a nutrition drink and an electrolyte solution. “But seriously, Ren, there is not much I can do. You already did the most important part.” 

“There’s gotta be something!” Ren yells back, anger vibrating, to a short spike of fear in her stomach. 

“Stay with him,” she says. “Hold him. Talk to him and don’t let him get too cold. Some things a medic can’t heal.” 

He stares at her with an unhappy draw to his brow, anger swirling in his eyes. “Not like you can,” she amends as she shoves the nutrition drink into his hand and pretends not to see the flicker of pride cross his face.

“What about his injuries?” He shifts the body in his arms until Hux leans comfortably against Ren’s chest, his head resting against his lover’s shoulder. It gives her better access to the torn fingernails and the split skin on his hands. It will hurt, but it will heal quickly after she cut off all the broken pieces and taped others back over the raw skin, slathering everything in Bacta before it vanishes under a thick bandage.

“There’s nothing too serious, he can have a light painkiller every eight hours - no more than two at a time.” Pulling down Hux’s lower lip she inspects the damage.

“As for his mouth… I’ll leave something in the bathroom. Have him rinse with that. The cuts are deep, but they almost stopped bleeding already. Keep the injuries on his hands clean and covered in gauze, they’ll heal up quick enough. You don’t ever need to let him know I was here,” Bunny says pointedly and smiles at Kylo’s anxiety, her right hand brushing a stray lock of hair from Hux’s forehead. He would hate knowing that anybody but Kylo Ren saw him in that state. “He must drink the electrolyte solution when he wakes. And no work tomorrow. Physical contact and warmth… however he wants it.”

“What happened?” Kylo barely dares to ask as she pulls splinters out of the cut in his hand and Bunny shrugs.

“Shock. Panic attack. It comes with trauma sometimes. Did he come out of it, before he….” She gestures over the sleeping, not quite unconscious form of Hux that lies huddled and curled against Ren and smiles as he nods. 

“He was himself. He just... He hurt. Hux doesn’t….” Looking up his face twists into a mask of disbelief. “...’hurt’. He’s Hux.”

Bunny wraps Kylo Ren’s hand and pretends not to notice how he presses down onto the wound, looks at Hux and presses again, before he leans back and sorts the other man against his side.

“He’s strong, he’ll be fine. He’s been under a lot of stress these past few weeks… it probably all caught up to him at once,” Bunny shrugs and grabs her bag. 

“No shots for you today, Ren, but drink your nutrition.” 

She thumbs the bathroom light out on her way to the door and turns one last time. “Remember, I was never here,” she says and smiles, basking in the warmth in her chest as Kylo Ren gives her the sloppiest of salutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> outtakes: 
> 
> Kat  
> How much do you need a defenstration? 
> 
> Eridani  
> this gorge is bloodthirsty and you should quench its thirst....
> 
> Kat  
> yes, of course. The gorge is bloodthirsty
> 
> Kat  
> one defenestration as ordered.
> 
> Eridani  
> deep satisfied sigh from your beta and satiated burp from the gorge


	7. Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, just a little warning that the boys get up to sexy time shenanigans that might be interpreted a little on the dub-con side. At least seemingly, but Kylo is very deep in Hux's mind and would stop if Hux really wanted him to. 
> 
> Also, thanks to our beta - [Eridani](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eridani/pseuds/Eridani) for helping to keep us on track, for love and encouragement, and for helping to polish these chapters. Thank you.
> 
> If you want to find us on tumblr, you can = [Kat](http://kat2107.tumblr.com/) and [pkabyssinian](http://pkabyssinian.tumblr.com/)

Obi-Wan stares at the figures on the bed, curled tightly around each other with Ben's bigger body overshadowing the smaller Hux. They seem innocuous like this, Hux at once more vulnerable and more stable than he actually is.

"Shit," the Jedi says and next to him Anakin snorts.

"You don't say."

Obi-Wan studiously doesn’t look at his friend and former apprentice as he shakes his head.

“I honestly didn’t expect that,” he murmurs to Anakin, followed by a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, but...something had to give eventually.” It takes someone who knows Anakin to discern the line of worry in his posture. “Give him time. Let him rest.”

 

***

 

Kylo flexes his arms, rubbing catlike against the silk sheets in the airy bedroom. Sunbeams slant across the lush bed, swathing everything in deep gold and feeding his lethargy.

One hand hovers momentarily over the sleeping form of Hux, held back by the idea that Kylo has been enough of a burden, a pernicious doubt. Ever since Hux’s breakdown the sick churning in his gut bolstered the idea that he is responsible somehow.  Again, logic refutes such foolishness; Hux came for him when no one else would, shattering the illusion of Kylo Ren’s isolation which Snoke had been feeding him for as long as Kylo can remember.

The fact of Hux putting Kylo Ren before his amassed power sparks a prideful glow in Kylo’s chest and with renewed determination, he allows his hand to settle. His fingers drift over the tight muscles of Hux’s arm, skirt the taut ribcage, to rest on Hux’s hollow abdomen. Kylo enjoys this, curling up to slot his knees behind Hux’s and basking in the sleeping warmth Hux radiates. Kylo’s heart gives an awkward thump at how, even in the deepest of slumbers, Hux is attuned to him. How Hux relaxes as Kylo’s hand slides upward to rest over Hux’s heart. How uncomplicated Hux becomes while asleep, leaning backward to mould himself against Kylo’s body in complete surrender.

Kylo buries his nose in Hux’s shoulder, so the indefinable scent unique to Hux washes over him. This is wrong, he thinks, so wrong that everything about Hux soothes him.   Kylo doesn’t know when this happened, when the simple act of breathing Hux in became his lifeline. His memories are filled with images of the dead and dying, not of learning how essential Hux is to him.  While he was sleeping  the sensation of skin on skin, the subtle aroma, the tickle of fine ginger hair seem to have been hardwired into Kylo. The absolute need for them. Hux fills up holes Kylo didn’t know were empty, creating a stability which previously Kylo lacked.

Kylo’s eyes slip close, follow the insistent pull of even though he’s not tired. Not really. He doesn’t want to sleep, yet.

A chill washes over him and his eyes snap open, arms empty and Hux’s side of the mattress cold. He manages two gasping breaths before his lungs lock up, autonomy and will shattered by the emptiness next to him. He is alone, trapped by the solitary void in his thoughts with the high whistling sound of his closing throat the only company.

Curling into himself he draws his knees up until they are tightly pressed against his chest. His hands clasp around them, clutching onto anything to stop the jittering shakes. He needs air, fights, chokes on the panic until there is nothing but calm. Silence, as he watches with detached fascination his hands floating upward, his fingernails scratching insistently against the skin of his forehead and cheeks. The pain clears his head, yanks him back into his body so he repeats the action, pushing harder this time.

Hands grab his wrists, flip him onto his back and immobilize him to the bed. Being pinned down is far too similar to his captivity, a flashback to when he first arrived at the facility, when they started the injections. Memories of being strapped into the cold metal chair to keep him from destroying himself or the tormentors who dared to lay their hands on what wasn’t theirs to touch.

He tries to scream; the sound lacks power and comes out as a ragged hiss of air. He still can’t breathe.

The pressure crushing him to the bed is abruptly gone only to be replaced by a strong arm around his waist, the other around his shoulders, holding him to the broad plane of a chest. Kylo almost weeps as he latches onto Hux, the light scent of the oil Hux favors mixing with Hux’s own aroma breaking through the panic attack. His arms and legs wrap around Hux, pulling him as close as he can.

“You weren’t here. You were gone.”

“There are other things I must tend to besides giant children masquerading as grown men,” Hux drawls and the sarcasm almost covers up the worry underneath.

He is upset Kylo panicked without him there, that Kylo couldn’t bear to be alone for a few fucking minutes. No matter how well Hux hides it, guilt whispers to Ren telling him to be stronger, allowing Hux a few moments of peace. He wants to curl into a ball in humiliation, instead, he pulls away, Snoke’s voice in his thoughts reminding him how much of a liability he is.   _Soon_ , the phantom Snoke whispers, _soon Hux will be tired of you, I am the only one never to abandon you._

With a half-hearted snarl Hux tightens his arms and yanks Kylo back against him. Almost as if he is aware of the battle taking place inside Kylo’s head. Hux isn’t Force-sensitive, he harbors no ability to peek into Kylo’s mind, yet, divining the impossible appears to be yet another of Hux’s specialties.

“Your face gives you away, everything you think is broadcasted,” Hux growls, his chest rumbling beneath Kylo.

Shock chases away the panic already dissolving in the proprietarity of Hux’s embrace. Replaces guilt with faint embarrassment at how he’s grown too used to the mask hiding his features. He rarely bothers to school them anymore; something he needs to learn to deal with if he eschews the mask, unless he wants to put on a display for all the world to see.

“We should talk,” Kylo says. It’s meant to deflect from that problem, but the moment the words leave his mouth, he winces.

“What have we been doing?” Hux asks. The sarcasm is back, heavier now for its brief absence.

“I mean…” Kylo trails off into uncertainty. The truth is they need to share their thoughts, they can’t continue to rely solely on what they interpret from each other. He dares a glance through his lashes trying silently to convey what he means. _Use your words_ , Kylo berates himself. He can’t count the number of times he heard that phrase while growing up.

Strangely, Hux takes pity on him and his features soften. One of Hux’s hands steals up to Ren’s neck, draws patterns on the sensitive skin there. It would be easy to give in, let their bodies do the talking, but no, if they’re in this together they need to learn to communicate.

“I meant we need a plan. You left behind your career to come and find me. I’m useless to Snoke now, he probably doesn’t know I’m not still locked in the madness he created for me. But once the drugs wash out of my system completely, that will change. We’re both liabilities to whatever Snoke is planning and I’m not willing to lose you,” Kylo grates out.

His thoughts aren’t quite fully formed but he has to say something. Kylo’s ability to leap headlong into situations is often a liability but perhaps, in this instance, they can turn it into a strength.

“I didn’t leave my career,” Hux says and without looking up, Kylo knows he’s smiling.”I do have the ability to plan ahead so my position awaits me. But I see your point, once Snoke is cognizant of the fact we are no longer his playthings he won’t hesitate to either eliminate us or use us against each other.”

“Maybe my reaction to the scenario of your death will stop him from trying to kill you?” although Kylo’s phrasing lilts up like a question they both know the truth. Snoke will be more likely to strike at Hux in a bid to weaken and distract Kylo.

“Hopefully, he’ll think the attachment runs one way,” Hux muses, his fingers lazily twisting in the Kylo’s hair, tiny pinpricks of pain that poke at something deep within Kylo’s subconscious.

“How did you know to come for me?” There is a hint of sharpness underlying the question. He ignores the slight barb Hux slung at him, Kylo knows enough about Hux’s mind to be confident about his place in Hux’s affections.

Hux’s fingers still and Kylo peers at him. The tips of Hux’s ears are faintly pink and the embarrassment rolls off him in waves obvious even to a non-Force sensitive. Curiosity digs serrated claws into Kylo and he levers himself up on an elbow to get a better view.

“Well?” he prods.

“I dreamed about you. I knew you needed help,” Hux finally answers, chagrin dense in his tone. “You reached out to me even when lost.”

Kylo goes dangerously still and above him, Hux follows suit. They stare at each other and reach the same conclusion at the exact same time.

“That wasn’t me, Hux. The drugs cut me off from the Force, I wouldn’t be able to reach you,” Kylo whispers, creeping horror flooding him.

“Then…” Hux trails off with a furrow between his brows. “Ah. Obi-Wan.”

Kylo’s reaction is galvanic, he bucks upward displacing Hux as he rolls to the edge of the bed. The words _I have other business to attend to_ echo in his mind, uttered carelessly just before the Obi-Wan in his dream vanished. At some point, he’ll need to determine how much of what he dreamed is rooted in reality. He remembers visions of Hux, memories of touches, flashbacks to feelings. Separating what belonged to his insanity and what might be based in reality, Kylo realizes, unweaving the tangled mess of his own head, is a daunting task.

Hux, clearly fearing another panic attack, crouches on the opposite side of the mattress, his eyes tracking every movement, every twitch on Kylo’s face. Kylo holds out his hands placatingly, assuring Hux while trying to bring his own mind under control and in order. Perhaps Grandfather helped to lead him back, if so then perhaps his vision with Leia Organa might be real as well. He would need to embrace the idea of absolution and meet with her, see if the familial bonds between them still held true.

He tries to ignore the way his hands shake or how Hux is stealthily creeping toward him as if Kylo is a wild thing on the verge of bolting. Maybe he is. Reduced to this by weeks of torture, months of drugs befouling his system and messing with his abilities. There is the very real possibility Snoke has finally managed to break him in such a fundamental way Kylo will be unable to recover.

No. He refuses, absolutely flat out rejects the notion of Snoke besting him. He’s alive. Hux is alive. Together they can beat anything, they could tear Snoke down from his throne if they wanted…

His eyes widen as the insidious thought crosses his mind again. The possibility washes over Kylo that he never, not once, allowed himself to contemplate. Remove Snoke from power. Yet, he’s certain they could.

Tendrils of the Force reach out and slide around Hux like a lover, brush over the outer layers of his mind and send feedback to Kylo, yes, Hux would be willing. Hux is more than halfway to the same conclusion. And that is, perhaps, the most shocking development of all.

“Obi-Wan? Kenobi? I didn’t know you were a fan of Old Republic Generals,” Kylo attempts to sneer. The need to lash out and wound is an old defense mechanism, a relic lacking the biting edge necessary;t Hux’s response is far more cutting.

“Perhaps you could introduce me, I hear you’re related to one,” Hux purrs. His face is closed off and perfect, exactly the reaction Kylo initially tried to avoid. He sighs and scrubs one hand through his longish hair.

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Just, before I woke I remember the strangest dream with Anakin and Obi-Wan. I thought it might be another hallucination but Obi-Wan said he had other business to attend to, I didn’t know he meant you. I didn’t know,” Kylo is almost pleading and manages to arrest any more words before he says something Hux finds unforgivable.

Hux is generally displeased about Kylo messing around in his thoughts, he would be even less happy with a stranger and a Force-damned Jedi ghost rooting haphazardly through his mind. But no anger radiates from Hux, just a steady thrumming of tension.

Under Kylo’s regard Hux bites at his bottom lip, a gesture Kylo hasn’t seen on the General before. He allows this chink in his armor, a way to grant Kylo access inside the fortress Hux keeps around himself, in hopes of opening the lines of communication. Hux takes a deep breath, steadying himself visibly which in turn helps Kylo to settle.

“Before you found me,” Hux breathes deeply. “Last night... I thought I was talking to him, to Obi-Wan. I initially assumed my subconscious found an outlet through the brandy. But, to be honest, my time with you proved Force-users are capable of feats beyond rational understanding. If I did speak with Obi-Wan, perhaps he reached out to me because they wanted me to find you,” Hux offers the explanation as if he doesn’t quite accept it. He rubs one hand against the stubble growing on his cheeks and chin, “Could the Obi-Wan in my dream been the same man?”

“Possible. Although unlikely since you aren’t Force-sensitive,” Kylo says and in the same breath finds he wants to apologize for dashing Hux’s hopes.

“You dig around in my head constantly yet you aren't hindered by my lack of the Force,” Hux points out, his quick mind darting down pathways to come to breathtaking conclusions.

“Yes, but mind reading is my specialty,” Kylo is proud of the fact, in this not even Snoke is as masterful as Kylo Ren. “And everyone has some connection to the Force, only te strength varies.”

“My rationale still fits, you’ve been in my head for months realigning neural pathways in order to create a home for yourself. Another Force-user would be able to take advantage of such groundwork, especially if you all share a common ground in training.”

Kylo opens his mouth to refute Hux’s logic but then snaps it shut. Obi-Wan trained Anakin Skywalker. Obi-Wan started Luke’s training. Luke began training Ben. There is always the possibility of Hux being correct, he does tend to be right more often than not. The whole thing is a confusing mess, especially since Snoke hadn’t so much trained his student as forced him in certain directions where Kylo then had to teach himself or risk being deemed a failure. Failures were eliminated. With Snoke, there were no second chances.

It had always been in Kylo’s best interest to be wholly unpredictable, to be seen as unstable and uncooperative. His apparent intractability saved him on several occasions and kept the other Knights from challenging his authority. Only since this _thing_ started with Hux had Kylo questioned his modus operandi and contemplated that being seen as dangerously volatile might be a hindrance.

“Do you resent my presence in your head?” Kylo asks with curiosity for an answer he doesn’t want to pluck out of Hux’s head.

Hux remains silent for a long time, his eyes half closed as he thinks.  Kylo adores how Hux’s lips twitch as he internally dissects the question, viewing it from all angles before rendering a decision.  Kylo could learn to use some of Hux’s methodical patience, yet he is unsure if his mercurial nature would allow such reflection.

“I should.  I used to despise your ability to peek into my privacy, yet as a tool, there are practical uses.  The fact you possess the dexterity to reach me played a part in this operation.  You’re alive because I can be reached through the Force, a fact we both should be grateful for,” Hux tells him, not without a healthy unwillingness to place too much trust in something as intangible as the Force.

Hux’s slim fingers scratch at the reddish stubble adorning his face, in equal parts still caught in thought and discomfited with the bare beginnings of a beard. Kylo can’t help himself, he reaches out letting the growth rasps against his fingers.

“I’m not a pet, Ren,” Hux grumbles and summarily slaps Kylo’s hand away, though the scolding halfhearted at best.

“I like it,” Kylo responds with a small grin.

“I don’t care; I want to get rid of it. Almost as much as I want to remove our Supreme Leader,” Hux rasps out.

“We can, I think. Get rid of him,” Kylo elaborates unnecessarily. His pulse is jackrabbiting in his throat, his palms are clammy and he assumes the shocked look Hux is wearing is also plastered over his own features.

They were both groomed to follow orders, to be cogs in the great machine Snoke labors to create. As a bone-deep certainty settles over Kylo, he is aware their unity in this would never be possible without the trials they’ve just overcome. They’re being rebuilt into something that should terrify Snoke, if he ever knew. The thought brings a wolfish smile to Kylo’s face, he hopes to see it mirrored in Hux. But Hux just looks consternated.

“Maybe. Maybe. But first, we need you back into top form. You’re scrawny now and I… I need to get back to _Finalizer_ soon. I thought we could hide you there, keep you close but that no longer seems feasible,” Hux tells him slowly.

“No, you’re right I can’t go back there. Too risky,” Kylo agrees even though it pains him to do so. Anger that Hux is contemplating separating them again so soon burns dully in Kylo. Even though this is the correct decision, the sensible choice, helpless rage still drags Kylo into a vicious undertow.

“We’ll find a suitable destination for you, somewhere far enough away that Snoke won’t be able to sense you,” Hux continues as if Kylo hadn’t spoken

“You could come with me,” Kylo dares. Hux won’t leave his ship, his crew. Kylo understands that but he still hopes Hux might be willing to put Kylo above all others.

“Ren, no. You need to focus on your training and I need to finish what I’ve begun with Phasma and Reina. I’m needed on the _Finalizer_. If we control her we retain the biggest and best ship of the Order. None of the others can stand up to her.” Hux answers as expected; as is sensible. At least one of them always, reliably is. It shouldn’t poke at Kylo’s sleeping temper.

“I might need you, too,” comes out petulant and sulky, Kylo wants to be embarrassed by it but catches how Hux turns his head to hide a look of pure amusement. Only he can do that, only Kylo Ren makes Hux feel something other than duty and command.

“You don’t, not really.” Hux places his hand over one of Ren’s and Kylo turns helpless eyes to him.

“I tried to destroy the galaxy for you,” Kylo grits out, the hollow ring of truth emphasizes the sinister words.

“You did.” Hux’s expression softens on the hushed response, in equal parts tenderness and pride and he lets the awe-filled words settle between them before he sets out again. “If we’re going to do this...”

Here Hux takes a deep breath and releases it shakily. He’s pale white but an unholy fire burns in his green eyes, this same fanaticism that made him so devoted to the First Order, but now exists for Kylo.

“We will. We’ll do it,” Kylo prompts, caught as he always is in the overwhelming conflagration that is Hux’s charisma.

“If we are to succeed, our plan must be executed intelligently. Something needs to be done to shield you. General Kenobi mentioned he and Anakin could hide your presence from Snoke, a possibility we’ll need to look into. Phasma and I have already, slowly, been replacing key people that will be loyal to me. We remove any support system Snoke built for himself, the only truly loyal minions he might rely on are the Knights,” Hux says, gaining strength from his conclusions with every word.

“Not all of them, some will break away, one or two might follow me. None of us are loyal to _him_ , only to the power he offers. If we can prove ourselves stronger, they’ll come to us. We need Force-users to face Snoke. We need to be able to overwhelm him,” Kylo says. He can’t do it alone, no matter how much he’d like to think he could. Snoke had decades of experience on him, maybe centuries.

“He can’t be immune to blaster fire. A good sniper…” Hux says, an idea glimmering in the depths of him.

“No!” Kylo shouts, fear battering at his brittle inner defenses. “I won’t risk you, not again.” Hux reaches out, his hands cradling around Kylo’s face as if he knows. Such strength there, Hux looks so delicate but underneath is a framework of steel.

“We do it together. It’s the only way, neither one of us could sit back and wait. This way if,” Hux swallows around the very real possibility, “if it ends poorly, we’re both done. Agreed?”

Kylo nods with a new hesitance. Yes. If Hux were to die again best Kylo follows him right away. Before he can bring any more destruction to the galaxy. It warms him in a different way from the anger, to know that Hux wouldn’t want to continue without him. Together or not all. Yes. Kylo can live with that. He could even die with it.

A gusty sigh escapes Hux. He leans forward, his forehead presses against Kylo’s and Kylo angles for a kiss. He nearly misses how Hux’s lips lift in an almost smile before he pulls away, leaving Kylo wanting. Again. Ever since Kylo woke, Hux rarely allowed more than chaste kisses. With a quick glance at the wreckage of the bathroom, Kylo contemplates a plan.

Hux’s hand scratches indelicately at his almost beard again, as if he hadn’t just turned down Kylo for possibly the hundredth time in two days.

Either the scruff really bothers him or  the fact that stubble isn’t regulation chafes more than it should.

“Hux. Where were you when I woke up?” There is a sly caginess to the question that earns Kylo a sharp look.

“Searching for a razor.”

“Hmm. Did you find one?”

“You know damn well I didn’t,” Hux finally answers, annoyance seeping through the words. “Oh, no. You didn’t…. You did. You son of a bitch,” Hux growls as he realizes what the absence of a simple razor means.

“You were overly distraught, we thought you might hurt yourself,” Kylo says with vicious pleasure. Hux flushes darkly as the words sink in.

“We, Ren? We?” Hux demands silkily. Suddenly Kylo realizes his mistake. Hux had surely guessed Bunny knew about his lapse but with one little word Kylo all but confirmed his suspicions.

“Me. _I_ thought you might. Do something drastic, so I gave them all to Bunny and had her take them away,” Kylo covers. The explanation even sounds plausible, Kylo hopes that Hux accepts the words at face value otherwise Bunny will strangle him. He holds up a hand in a bid for time and leniency. “Wait, here’s a deal. You want to get rid of the stubble? Take a bath with me.”

The death glare that Hux levels at Kylo is impressive but he refuses to flinch. After several seconds of enduring the gaze, Hux says, “What exactly would this entail?”

While the response isn’t a yes, it is more than Kylo hoped for. A chance, which is more than Hux ever offers.

“Please,” Kylo says softly, infusing as much longing as he can into the word. This time, he can see the slight slump to Hux’s shoulders, how his body relaxes infinitesimally. He’s won.

 

***

 

Steam wavers as it rises from the tub, the water so hot it flushes Hux’s skin to a deep red. Thankfully the doctor’s bath is wide enough and deep enough to fit two tall grown men comfortably with overly warm water lapping tranquilly at Kylo’s chest. The bath is perfect and relaxing, even Hux is starting to lose some of his normal rigidity.

“Eventually, you’ll admit this is a good idea,” Kylo gloats, dipping his hand down so gentle waves dance over the water’s surface. Hux sits with his back snuggly plastered to Kylo’s front and Kylo should deserve praise for encircling Hux without wrapping arms or legs around him the way he wants. Hux’s only response is a grunt.

Kylo can’t help the goofy grin which splits his face, revelling in his stroke of genius. They both need this, the privacy of it, the pleasurable softness of warm water lapping against their skin, even if the broken door lets the warm air escape.

Casually, Ren runs his fingers over Hux’s bare chest to map the muscles. He’s not the only one who lost weight and neither one of them can afford it. Kylo pokes at mentioning that Hux will need to take better care of himself but he can already hear the rebuke Hux most likely has rallied.

Honestly, he just doesn’t want to ruin this moment, the peacefulness settled around them. Kylo can’t remember the last time he allowed himself to relax, letting the tension flow from his neck and shoulders. He doubts Hux ever did.

“What I’m really waiting for is to get rid of this scruff,” Hux grumbles, wriggling slightly against Kylo. Their slick skin sliding together induces shivers in Kylo, leaving him fighting for control. Shaving Hux is first. Then he can enact his secondary plan.

“So bossy,” Kylo teases. Hux lifts Kylo’s hand out of the water and bites his palm, his sharp teeth leave an indent but don’t break the skin. He isn’t really angry.

Kylo is still laughing when he reaches for the shaving implements carefully arranged on the floor. First, Kylo spreads the thick cream over Hux’s cheeks and neck, not so accidentally getting some into Hux’s mouth when the man dares to complain that he could do this himself.

“Hush. That’s not the point. I’m pampering you,” Kylo chides, placing the ghost of a kiss against the nape of Hux’s neck.

“You just don’t trust me,” comes the disgruntled response.

“Are you pouting?”

 

“I’m not you, Ren,” Hux says without real heat and Kylo wisely remains silent.

He finishes soaping up Hux’s face before leaning over the high tub wall for the mirror and razor. Hux is being uncommonly cooperative and Kylo doesn’t want to push his luck too far though he can’t quite disguise his pleasure at Hux’s trust. Not that he gave Hux much choice, but still.

“Hold the mirror steady,” Kylo requests blandly.

“Don’t slit my throat,” Hux always quick with a riposte.

“I won’t as long as you hold the fucking mirror steady.”

A noise wriggles out of Hux then, something which is almost a laugh but mostly a puff of air. This is the closest Kylo has ever come to eliciting an expression of true amusement from the man. Kylo is well acquainted with continually denying himself and if Hux continues to do so eventually he’ll break. Similar to how he shattered the other night but worse and Kylo wants to be certain Hux will remain safe once he is on his own again.

A small part of Kylo is trying to work plans within plans, not his area of expertise but he studies Hux often enough he should be able to work something. Perhaps a word with Reina, someone who would be able to penetrate the walls that Hux uses to keep everyone and everything at bay. He would need a confidant, someone to take Kylo’s place.

Forcefully Kylo puts the thought aside and loosens his grip on the razor handle,  too tight to safely shave Hux. First this, the rest can wait.

With slow steadiness, Kylo drags the razor through Hux’s stubble to reveal the ivory skin beneath. Hux holds the mirror sniper steady, his eyes half shut under pale lashes. He watches the blade slight over his throat and in a vivid moment of madness, Kylo viscerally envisions the blade slipping, to watch slick red blood tumble into the tub and stain the water a murky pink. Kylo almost wants to see that, the flat of the razor resting dangerously against Hux’s neck. If Hux is aware of Kylo’s thoughts, he doesn’t show it.

Kylo leans forward, his mouth presses against Hux’s ear, “Do you think I owe you a scar?”

He’s half-hard at the thought. A slash deep enough to scar, a new wound to poke at, drawing forth an ache. A bone deep and permanent reminder of Kylo Ren which Hux would carry forever. The very thought is obsessive and intoxicating.

One green eye flickers open, Hux takes in the tableau before the eye lazily shuts again.

“Whether you do or not, there isn’t much I can do to stop you,” he says nonchalantly and Kylo moves the razor infinitesimally. His wrist is engulfed by Hux’s hand and held immobile as blunt fingers dig into the tendons of his wrist.

“Keep that up and I’ll drop it,” Kylo tells him, a faint tremor to his voice and as suddenly as it gripped him, Hux’s hand is gone, settling beneath the warm water.

Hux remains limp and pliant against Kylo while he finishes the shave, rotating Hux’s head back and forth in order to remove all of the stubble. It becomes almost meditative, the rasp of the blade against Hux’s skin, the dip and splash as he removes soap and stubble from the razor. The clean, sweeping feeling of uncovering the Hux he’s used to from beneath the rough almost-beard.

“There, you’re done. Happy now?” Kylo demands pleasantly and drops the razor onto the tub’s rim with finality.

Hux inspects himself in the mirror, runs one hand over his cheeks and chin, pleased when he finally speaks.

“Much better. I suppose I should thank you,” Hux doesn’t quite ask a question and Kylo draws his brows together in confusion.

Slick as an eel, Hux twists his body around until he’s straddling Kylo and facing him. His hands run possessively over Kylo’s face, an odd light in his eyes.

“You could,” Kylo agrees uncertain of Hux’s motives.

“Good. I’ll return the favor,” Hux announces gleefully, reaching over the edge of the tub for the shaving soap.

“I’m capable of doing it myself. Anyway, mine doesn’t grow in as quickly as yours,” Kylo is aware he sounds defensive but it also happens to be the truth. He shaved after he woke, his stubble is patchy, not quite as long as Hux’s and there is less of it. Now, quite forcefully, he regrets threatening to scar Hux earlier.

“I trusted you…” there is a challenge being issued in Hux words, one Kylo isn’t sure he can deny. They’ve always been competitive with each other and it takes only a quick search into the deeper recesses of his conscious for Kylo to find the trust he needs to do this.

He tilts his head back to rest against the wide lip of the tub. “Go ahead, then.”

With more care than Kylo expected, Hux soaps his face and begins to draw the razor over it. He is precise and methodical, just as one would expect from Hux. He finishes in less time than it took Kylo to shave Hux, which shouldn’t sting at his pride but yet does.

Kylo doesn’t bother with the mirror, Hux did an impeccable job, the man is incapable of doing anything less. Instead, he leans forward and rubs his freshly shaved face against Hux’s, enjoying the smooth slide of skin. In a distant corner of his mind Kylo imagines, instead of this softness convincing Hux to keep the abrasive stubble. There is the tantalizing idea of Hux leaving rough red marks on Kylo’s skin, to feel the stubble burn on his thighs or neck or… A notion for another time, he decides, tucking the thought into memory like something precious to keep.  
  
The water is finally starting to cool, their fingers are pruning and Kylo very much wants to get Hux back into bed. They’ve both spun free from so much, moved beyond what Snoke tried to inflict upon them. Kylo has other needs now, ones he’s tired of suppressing in deference to his nursemaids.

“Out,” Kylo commands, half lifting Hux out of the water in an impressive show of strength which is augmented by the Force.

Hux slants him an indecipherable look but hauls himself out of the tub, as he reaches for a towel Kylo snags it from his grasp using the Force. The sumptuously fluffy cloth is like a cloud against their skin. Kylo draws it slowly over Hux’s skin, stomach, back, down Hux’s arms in a silent show of reverence. The man primps and preens under the attention and Kylo tosses the towel over Hux’s shoulders like a cape to draw him close. Hux tilts his face up in anticipation, expecting a kiss and Kylo doesn’t disappoint.

The kiss begins as an idle exchange, their lips pressing together chastely, mingling breath in a soft and leisurely dance until Hux chuckles and swipes his tongue wetly across Kylo’s lower lip. With a greedy noise, he opens and Hux feeds at his mouth like a drowning man.

Ren releases the towel, allowing the cloth to fall unheeded on the tile floor as he runs his hands over Hux’s damp skin, down his back to grip at slim hips. He can feel Hux’s erection flush and hard against his stomach, pressing insistently. It’s been so long that by now Kylo’s hunger has warped into desperate need.

Maybe it is that longing, which has him reaching out, or perhaps it is Hux’s, but Ren feels without trying, Hux’s mind brush up to his, bridge a gap he kept deliberately, allowing Hux privacy. But now Hux is beckoning him in, luring him into contact with thoughts that dip into Kylo’s consciousness and let him see, without intention, what Hux needs. This is a gift, a display of trust that is far deeper than allowing Kylo to place a sharp razor against Hux’s tender throat. He wonders if Hux is even aware of it.

“Let go, Hux. I have you, I’ll take care of you,” Kylo whispers against the damply warm skin only to lap beaded water from one elegant shoulder.

A stubborn shake of Hux’s bright head, always refusing. Kylo can hear the inner struggle, the need to regain his vaunted control and not permit Kylo to seduce it away from him with caresses. Hux doesn’t surrender, it’s not who he is and Kylo is well familiar with it by now.

There is a quiet whimper lodged within Hux’s chest, Kylo tries to draw it out with soft kisses across his clavicle, drawing off with his mouth the water which dripped from Hux’s hair. He can feel Hux shaking in his arms, his muscles clamped so tight Hux is undoing all the good the warm bath did.

“Relax, it’s alright,” Kylo coaxes, murmuring the words onto goosebump covered skin.

Hux is expecting a hard, brutal fucking. Violence is what they do, what will put them back on even ground and allow Hux to gather his broken pieces and rebuild his walls. Kylo knows what he should do, but if he follows their normal course then nothing will ever change.

Madness and pure hubris tell Kylo he can divine what Hux needs better than the man himself. But Kylo is certain, just this once, what Hux needs is one night where he doesn’t have to be who the universe expects. Where he can put aside the persona of General Hux, not be the man designing the most elaborate and dangerous coup imaginable for a little while. Hux needs to reimagine who the General is, that he’s more than a pawn in this game.

Hux kisses him again, his fingers clawing into Kylo’s back as if he’s trying to draw Kylo within himself. There is a desperation, a feeling of desolation. He is still wounded and raw, he’s torn up and Kylo thinks he can perceive how to staunch the flow.

When Hux eases back, Kylo runs his hands down Hux’s arms until his hands encircle the other man’s wrists. A quick yank pulls him forward through the door and then they both shiver in the cooler air of the bedroom.

Without warning, Kylo lifts Hux and tosses him onto the bed. He’s not as gentle as he wants to be, but Hux is expecting violent intensity and Kylo does not want to tip him off too soon. With more coercion than necessary, Kylo flips Hux onto his stomach before using the Force to bind Hux’s wrists and ankles to the wide bed. Hux struggles against the slippery silk sheets, growling obscenities which are lost in the mattress.

Hux won’t remember, an impossibility since the scenario happened in Kylo’s dream. Kylo, however, remembers with perfect clarity what took place between Hux and Ben. He paid close attention and stored the information away. He mapped out the slow moves and the tender caresses, how Hux worshipped Ben’s body with his own. Kylo had etched it all into his memory and plans to use it now. To reshape Hux, to offer the same sweetness with which Ben had been gifted, the care and loving compassion denied to both of them.

There is real violence brewing in Hux, he’s angry and stressed and he wants to lash out. He hasn’t, mostly because he can’t, but also because that’s not how he was trained. The word programmed flits through both their minds and now Hux realizes how entrenched Kylo is in his thoughts. He twists his head as far as he can, glaring hotly as he is tipped over the edge into rage.“Let me the fuck go, Kylo Ren,” Hux hisses, spittle flying from his perfect lips.

“No.”

“You will release me or when I finally get free, I will kill you.” It’s a real threat. Kylo doesn’t doubt Hux even means it right now. He smooths his hands over the plane of Hux’s back, his touch light.

“No.” Normally he would permit it, give himself over to find release in bruises and the taste of blood, but Hux doesn’t need yet another stopgap measure.

Hux bucks and strains against the invisible hands that spread his legs wide while stretching his arms across the mattress, trying to get away and Kylo can see the first dark smudges of bruises forming under the fair skin. He likes the idea of Hux marked with bracelets of bruises, likes it enough that he is forced to bow his head and kiss down the long line of Hux’s spine.

“Dammit, Ren…” whatever threat he was about to spew is cut off as another Force hand wraps around Hux’s neck, halting the flow of words. Although Ren doesn’t need to read Hux’s thoughts to know his annoyance or his arousal, he keeps the contact anyways, skims over the outer barriers of Hux’s mind. He is sure that Hux knows, but here no curses are forthcoming.

“Shhh, just relax. I’ll take care of you. I promise,” Ren tells him reverently. He traces the defined muscles, taut under Hux’s pale skin, smoothing over them in a way that can only be described as worshipful. The fingers are followed by soft, open mouthed kisses that trail down Hux’s back, tasting each knob of his spine.

Hux is still struggling, writhing, and indignant as fuck. He radiates his temper which produces a smile against his skin from Kylo before a stripe is licked across the small of Hux’s back. At the warm, wet caress Hux jerks against the sheets making a softly surprised sound. As Kylo licks and kisses down the back of one leg, Hux’s struggles lessen but don’t entirely cease.

When he reaches one high-arched foot Kylo releases the grip on Hux’s throat, allows him to suck in a deep breath and expand his lungs. There is a harshness to Hux’s panting fueled by his rage, he pushes up on his hands so his upper body is off the bed.

“I will…” Hux is cut off again, the Force grip stronger this time and he coughs into silence.

“I don’t want threats, General, I want you to beg for me,” Kylo says, his voice a high sing-song and crawls back up Hux’s body.

Something that sounds suspiciously like ‘never’ escapes Hux’s throat, to Kylo’s low chuckle. In case Kylo misunderstood the noise, Hux shakes his head vehemently and Kylo scrapes his teeth over the sensitive nape of Hux’s neck. Hux shudders against Kylo’s lips and with a sharp gasp sinks boneless into the sheets.

Kylo drags his teeth bluntly over other sensitive areas, never using enough pressure for Hux but making him ache and yearn. Pleasure and pain are twisted for them both, this gentle assault does nothing but confuse Hux, leaving him starving for more.

Hux begins to writhe for a reason other than anger when Kylo drags his hair over the soft curve of Hux’s hip followed by soft, chaste kisses. Kylo moves up Hux’s back, ghosting his lips over the taut muscles, exhaling warm breath instead of kissing.

When he reached Hux’s shoulders he slips his fingers beneath the Force pressure on Hux’s neck, subtly pushing harder until a keen unravels from Hux and his hips grind into the sheets searching for friction.

Hux’s mind is a frenzy of want and need, desire and anger which churns and clashes until not even Hux can tell what he’s thinking. Nothing is clear and Kylo offers a calm spot in the frenetic kinesis of Hux’s mind.

Just as Hux becomes accustomed to Kylo in his thoughts, Hux’s mind opens like a sunrise offering everything, no thought is hidden or tucked away from Kylo.  
“That’s it, I’ll take care of you,” Kylo promises, longing lacing the words like sweet honey.

Kylo pulls away, removes the calm from Hux’s mind and the heat of his body until a keening sob is pulled from Hux. Kylo wants to give in to the yearning emanating from Hux, to sink into Hux and surrender to their passions. The harsh urge to be cruel rides Kylo, he desperately wants to watch blood run like ribbons over Hux’s skin but curbs the need, forcing himself to keep going with the same slow attention.

He drizzles the cool oil over Hux’s lower back, down over the cleft of his buttocks, permitting it to slickly pool on soft skin to dribble onto the sheets and stain them. Carefully he caps the bottle, takes a deep breath to steady himself as want quakes through his bones. Slides his fingers through the oil, teases the hidden entrance to Hux’s body by skimming over it.

Always responsive, Hux arches his back and angles his hips in clear invitation. Kylo leans down to press his forehead against Hux’s shoulder blade and exhales shakily before murmuring tender words into his skin. Nothing loud enough to be heard, all of it nonsensical, but Hux is slowly relaxing under the onslaught of endearments.

When Hux’s mind reaches a crescendo, Kylo slips his fingers into Hux, thrusts shallowly and gently. Hux will be able to feel his own hard length pressed intimately into his inner thigh.

Kylo continues his leisurely finger fuck, watching Hux struggle while mouthing words of care against his skin, trying to slow the maelstrom which is building inside Hux’s own head. A shining shimmer of indignation stabs outward – how dare Kylo Ren try to gentle him in his own fucking thoughts…

“Tut, tut, General. I insist you ask me nicely,” Kylo tells him, letting his amusement batter against Hux. The words are a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down and Hux bares his teeth in a feral growl.

Kylo pushes in a little deeper, crooks his fingers to brush against Hux’s prostate. He pulls back, his fingers barely dipping inside, just teasing before thrusting in deeply again. He keeps it random, ensuring there is no discernable rhythm or reason to what he does or how he does it.

There is murder in Hux’s mind, how Hux wants to resist, how he wants to let go and sink into the soft mattress, how he wants to scream, how he wants. He is completely attuned to Ren, every nerve and cell is focused on whatever Kylo will do next and how much Hux needs him.

Slowly Kylo increases the pressure around Hux’s throat, the idea of a necklace to match the bracelets of dark bruises, Hux will have. He pictures it vividly for Hux and feels the answering leap of yes-yes-yes.

He releases the choking pressure, allows Hux’s words to spill out, tumbling over each other like a waterfall.

“Just-do-it-just-fuck-me-do-it-do-it-now,” Hux mewls, not caring how he sounds, how desperate and needy.

“Say please, General,” Kylo murmurs, lipping at the delicate outer shell of Hux’s ear.

“F-f-f-fuck-you,” Hux stutters out which devolves into harsh noises as the Force bites into his neck again. Kylo doesn’t allow any air through, this time, he waits until Hux’s eyes begin to glaze, until black streamers spin gossamer webs across Hux’s vision. Only then does he ease the pressure back, just enough for Hux to suck in heaving breaths.

Kylo removes his fingers, situates himself between Hux’s thighs and drags his fingernails down Hux’s back before thrusting his cock against Hux, riding the cleft between his cheeks.

The light pressure is torture for Hux, skimming over where he wants Kylo the most, his whole body quivering with want. Rage and lust twine within Hux until he can’t tell them apart anymore, leaving only desire and the need for Kylo to be inside of him.

“P-p-p…” Hux tries to say, tears leaking down his cheeks unheeded.

“Are you ready to be sensible?” Kylo asks with enough malice that Hux thrusts shallowly against the bed in pleasure.

The pressure around his neck eases, disappears and Hux sucks in air greedily.

“Please, please, Kylo, please,” he repeats himself, head slumped, breaking down under the onslaught.

Kylo sinks his teeth into Hux’s shoulder the same time he sinks his cock into his ass and the pleading words from Hux end in a howl.

Once the dam breaks, Hux can’t stop, he keeps pleading and begging, “More Kylo, please more. Deeper, harder, please, need you, need you so much…”

Kylo does his best to use only long, smooth thrusts. Hux is so hot inside, his mind is blown wide open, all of it calls to and welcomes Kylo. Eventually, Hux loses his words, he’s lost in the pleasure of how Kylo played him like an instrument.

The sensation is as overwhelming for Kylo as it is for Hux, he leans down, mouths at the perfect bite mark he left before turning his head, whispers, “You’re mine, Hux. Love you.”

As the words penetrate into Hux he begins to spasm, his orgasm catching him unaware and blinding him. Hux sobs into the sheets, everything wrung out of him. It only takes a few more thrusts until Kylo follows him, twisting his hips to drag out every bit of pleasure he can.

Kylo releases Hux, chafes feeling back into this hands and feet before pulling him close to his chest. Hux still hasn’t returned to himself, his eyes are roving lazily, taking in absolutely nothing while he lays limp and pliant in Ren’s arms.

“C’mon, drink a little,” Kylo trickles a sip of water into Hux’s mouth which he swallows obediently. The cool water seems to bring him back a little, so Kylo slowly drips more into Hux’s mouth until awareness returns to the General’s gaze.

“Ren,” Hux mumbles, one hand threading his fingers through Kylo’s in the most open display he’s ever shown. Kylo’s smile is filled with happiness and for once Hux doesn’t sneer at it, just smiles back in his own boyish way.

“Hello General, I’m back,” Kylo tells him simply before pressing a kiss to Hux’s temple.

“You are. You really are,” Hux agrees before snuggling closer, thrusting his leg back between Kylo’s to get more contact. Kylo brushes lightly against Hux’s mind, he’s emotionally exhausted and well sated in body and soul. He isn’t afraid to allow himself to need Ren, isn’t ashamed of wanting this, or of accepting the comfort that is offered.

Ren buries his face in Hux’s hair, he was right. He’s pieced his General back together, for now, made him stronger even though Hux might see this as a weakness. It doesn’t matter. Kylo knows better.  


 

***

 

With appreciative eyes, Kylo watches Hux leave their suite of rooms dressed only in the sleek bodyglove black pants Stormtroopers wear beneath their armor. The pants cling to Hux’s slim hips, showing off the long lean muscles in his legs. His fingers curl freely at his sides. Hux decided they didn’t need to be bandaged again and Kylo agreed. The overnight Bacta soak did it’s job and while the damaged nail areas are still tender, outwardly it looks as if nothing happened. Hux holds himself with impeccable precision and unquestionable command. There is nothing soft about the man, Hux’s tenacity is part of what drew Kylo to him.

Using the Force, Kylo follows Hux down the long hallway which traverses the doctor’s personal rooms to the small kitchenette. Once he is certain Hux won’t be doubling back, Kylo slips off the overstuffed couch and gives a joint-popping stretch. With his confinement limited to these rooms Kylo has the patience of a caged beast, he never expected Hux to be an overprotective nursemaid.

Kylo wants to be training again, his impatience feeds into restlessness until his muscles ache to move. Nothing too strenuous, just some light stretches and exercises to help him build up his stamina. As it is, he takes these stolen moments to push himself as much as he can before Hux returns and catches him in the act.

Almost aimlessly Kylo wanders into the sumptuous bedroom where the sheets are still mussed and in disarray. He can’t stop the smile spreading across his face or how his cheeks flame at the memory of Hux boneless and helpless to desire. There is a roll to Kylo’s hips, a satisfied swagger he does nothing to contain. Since Hux isn’t here to see, Kylo exaggerates the walk a little.

He does a few more perfunctory stretches, pushing his muscles slowly past the the soft tremor from inactivity. His side worries him the most, the shot from the bowcaster didn’t receive enough healing before he was brought here. Hux had done what he could as they escaped from the death throes of Starkiller Base, but Bacta patches could only repair so much damage.

Kylo twists back and forth in the vain hopes of loosening the tight scar tissue. He’s not sure he’ll ever fully recover from the wound;  not a good thought, since he needs to be in perfect condition for the inevitable confrontation with Snoke.

Kylo can’t deny he deserved the shot, his mind skirts away from the sure knowledge he warranted worse. If anything, the placement of the shot shows how much Chewie loved him. Kylo’s throat closes, he swallows thickly as he tells himself he won’t regret anymore. What’s done is done, he can only move forward.

With that in mind, Kylo drops to the floor to do push-ups, relishing the persistent burn. The simple exercise is empowering even if his arms are shaking and the healed burns on his arm and shoulder twinge with every pull. He manages to finish thirty before he has to stop. His breathing is heavier than he’d like and there is sweat pooling at his hairline.

The tightness in his abdomen makes flipping from his front to his back awkward, the scar limiting his movement. Once on his back he rests for a few seconds, trying to even out his breathing, then begins to do crunches. The movement hurts, the wound in his side is worse than he previously thought and dread flares along with the discomfort. Innate stubbornness pushes Kylo to continue the training, partially in penance but also to facilitate his return to fighting speed.

Hiding what he’s been up to will be impossible by the time Hux returns with food, but Kylo decides he can live with the lecture Hux will inevitably give. Although, he should try to hide the real extend of what he’s been up to if he retains any sense of self preservation. He runs one hand through his sweat damp hair before settling into meditation. Having the Force again is a joy, as it flows from him in widening ripples to winnow through the base.

He follows the Force sliding through the gleaming hallways, sweeping through abandoned rooms, breezing over the pitifully few current occupants. Kylo breathes in the static scent of ozone, his mind focusing on a bright point, a spark of the Force which, until now, has slipped by unnoticed…

From the bed, Hux’s datapad chirrups and the sound yanks Kylo out of his concentration. The pad bleats again, an incoming call instead of a downloaded transmission. Curiosity spikes in Kylo followed quickly by a mischievous streak that hasn’t been allowed an outlet since he was a boy. Kylo grins, reveling in that feel of a younger, rejuvenated self.

Before he thinks about the consequences, Kylo’s finger taps the pad and grins at the screen. A rather surprised Phasma stares back at him. She’s out of her armor, wearing regulation fatigues. What isn’t regulation is the glass of brandy in her hand and the look of puzzlement which crosses her fine features.

“Good evening, Captain. I trust you’re well?” Kylo asks as his grin turns rakish.

“Sir,” Phasma’s greeting is crisp, the word flat and unadorned.

“How are things on my ship, Phasma?” Kylo sweetly inquires only to see Phasma’s mouth pinch into a flat line.

The black shirt Kylo wears is far too large, one pale shoulder pokes out from the oversized neck and Kylo tries not to smirk as Phasma’s eyes are drawn to it. Her eyes hold the wary expression of a cornered animal, Kylo can’t help the pleased chuckle which escapes. He and Phasma tend to ignore each other as Kylo's attention is almost always focused on Hux and Phasma wants nothing to do with their petty power struggles.

“I believe, Lord Ren, unless there has been a recent change in rank or roster, the _Finalizer_ remains under General Hux’s command,” Phasma sounds prim. She sucks in a harsh breath as Ren dares to wink at her.

“You know I find your loyalty attractive, Captain,” Kylo says, his voice a low purr.

Phasma offers several slow blinks. “Where is the General?”

“He went to retrieve dinner for us. I’m hungry,” Kylo snaps his teeth together, the click loud enough for Phasma to hear. Kylo really shouldn’t bait her but he can’t seem to help himself.

“Please forgive the interruption, sir. If you would extend my apologies to the General and let him know I’ll submit my report for his perusal,” Phasma’s patience for this version of Kylo quickly evaporates. However, her discomfort doesn’t diminish his pleasure in being able to release this side of himself.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself, I’ll take your report,” Kylo reassures her with a lopsided smile. Phasma flinches, she doesn’t know how to deal with a Kylo that is separate from his rage. She’s only ever known the fearsome Kylo Ren, known him for his temper and violence. Being presented with this man and his disheveled appearance is far beyond Phasma’s ken.

“The dispatch is for the General only, sir,” Phasma tries with faint desperation, struggling to find familiar ground.

“Your report, Captain,” a hard edge intrudes into Kylo’s voice. He no longer appears youthful or boyish; Phasma must understand that he’s in command.

“First and foremost, the General is needed on board as soon as possible. We’ve extended his… leave… by a few weeks but High Command is getting ready to send an investigator to see if the General needs to be replaced. We’ve maneuvered the ship so we’re en route to your location, ostentatiously chasing pirates,” Phasma tells him crisply. There is distinct annoyance at being ordered into obedience which Kylo ignores.

“How long before the representative reaches you?” Cold calculation washes over Kylo’s face. His instincts howl to protect Hux, all trace of earlier hilarity quashed.

“Two weeks at best. The General will need an eyepatch, part of the reason for his delay to duty is that the virus infected his optic nerve. Tricky to repair and rather painful,” Phasma offers a tight grin of commiseration at how Hux will react to the news. Kylo’s only response is a brief nod.

“We can be done here in less than five days if need be. Only approach the outer edge of the system, if you come too close it will be suspicious. When we leave here, we’re going to detonate the base, the information they’ve collected here must be destroyed. Perhaps we can blame your pirates.” Kylo speaks coldly dispassionate and he can see the reassessment of him shift in Phasma’s eyes.

He’s no longer the wild card she remembers, Phasma needs to be aware of the change.  And he’s tired of being underestimated. Of course he is aware of the dangers the material collected on him poses in the wrong hands. That such data exists at all hones Kylo’s temper to a killing edge. In the end it doesn’t matter if she trusts him or not, she just needs to do her fucking job.

“We need a way to get him back on board without alerting suspicion,” Phasma finally decides to say. She’s adept at reading people, not that Kylo’s position is hard to understand as clearly as he’s broadcasting.

“When he’s ready to return, schedule maintenance on the main sensors. The routine runs for a tenth of a standard day. That should be enough time to slip a small shuttle into one of the hangar bays without attracting attention, even counting in any imponderables. All you’ll have to do is clear the area of personnel before his arrival,” Kylo tells her. Hux will be returning to their ship without him. He’ll be defenseless. “I’ll be sending you an encoded message, Captain. Once Hux is in transit I want you to broadcast the message, boost the signal as much as you can.”

“Yes, sir. Might I enquire as to what the message contains?” There is real curiosity in her question but Kylo knows that even if he doesn’t answer she’ll follow the order. That is what makes her such a good soldier and it’s all that really matters.

“A transmission to my Knights,” he decides to tell her. There is a finality to the words and Kylo sees that Phasma understands not to push further.

“Very good, sir. I’ll just...” whatever Phasma plans to say is interrupted by Hux in the doorway.

“This message wasn’t for you, Ren,” Hux growls, depositing the tray of food on the coverlet before pulling the datapad from Kylo’s unresisting fingers. Hux sits on the edge of the bed, his focus on Phasma. “What the hell did you tell him, Captain?”

“Lord Ren was conversant in arranging your return, General,” Phasma answers, there is no hint of apology in her tone now. Kylo smothers a grin, his eyes glued on Hux’s back. He wants to run his hands over the exposed skin, he doesn’t care that Phasma would see. Hux would care though and that actually stops Kylo.

Hux twists his body toward Kylo, green eyes narrow in speculation. “Seriously, Ren? Are you a child who doesn’t understand privacy? Act your age.”

“My position on the _Finalizer_ allows me to answer the damn comm, I am even authorized to make command decisions,” Kylo responds evenly, his humor would be evident to Hux. He can’t help himself, Hux in command is a joy to behold and Kylo’s lips curl upward and the entirety of what he feels is openly displayed. His tenderness for Hux shines in his eyes, reaching out to envelop him until the two of them are lost to anything outside of themselves.

Phasma clears her throat loudly, disrupting the moment. “I understand Lord Ren is on the mend?”

“He is,” Lord Ren pipes up, shifting his positiong until he kneels next to Hux and his shaggy head rests on Hux’s shoulder. Phasma tries to hide her shock, her eyes roundly huge as she tries to look anywhere but at the men in her viewscreen.

“He’s not the subject of this conversation,” Hux sighs although he sounds resigned to Kylo’s presence. He gently pushes Kylo away before settling on the bed, his back against the headboard as Kylo curls next to him. “Your report?”

“She says,” Kylo begins only for Hux to pluck a slice of pear from the tray of food and shove the fruit between Ren’s lips.

Phasma reiterates what she’s told Ren and adds his ideas about how to smuggle Hux onto his own ship. She tactfully leaves out the detail about the transmission and Kylo smiles at her. Another bit of food is popped into Kylo’s mouth as a faint pink blush colors her cheeks. When Hux offers the next bite, Kylo sucks the General’s fingers into his mouth in a sensual display. He grins widely as Phasma gives a choked cough before muddling through the rest of her report.

At least Hux won’t notice Kylo’s unauthorized exertion before he returned. He snags another slice of pear to nibble while studying Hux’s profile. Everything else fades out, Hux is the center of his universe, the only thing worth his attention and focus.

 

***

 

The slow, repetitive motion of the kata lulls Kylo, he relaxes into his true self that he is still uncovering. His dreams are mostly chaotic images that plague him, past wrongs and hurts left to fester and putrefy within. Each morning shortly before his internal clock wakes him, Kylo is visited by his Grandfather. Anakin is young and hale in appearance, proudly wearing Jedi robes and bearing tidbits of wisdom.

A brief battle with Hux over starting the kata forms again ends with Kylo being victorious.  Although Hux remains stubbornly convinced that Kylo is too weak for any strenuous activity and would be better served by eating and resting.  Kylo’s winning argument logically points out how the katas will not only help him heal but will also rebuild lost strength and fluidity and speed up the recovery process midterm.  

The beginning movements are slow enough even Hux has to agree Kylo can do no harm to himself performing them. He promises, multiple times, he won’t move beyond the basics until cleared by their medic. Bunny giggled at the pitiful look of resignation Kylo shot her before relenting and seconding to Hux that the simple exercise won’t stress Kylo’s abused body.

Even after the time he lost, dropping into a moving meditation is almost second nature to Kylo. He finds himself falling into the old patterns seamlessly. Months have passed since he could practice, long weeks where he couldn’t touch the Force at all. Kylo sinks into the exercises with intense relief.

Hux is working nearby, most of the General’s attention fixed on the datapad in his lap. He is only partially aware of Kylo. As often, there is the pulsing energy of Anakin’s presence , familiar company. With a mental shrug, Kylo decides to drop deeper into his trance. His muscle memory will continue to guide him through the motions.

A sharp pain flares in his side, the damn scar limiting even these gentle actions. Without meaning to, Kylo finds himself back on the bridge crossing the oscillator. The Force enhances all of his senses, he can taste the crisp cold air of Starkiller Base. When Chewbacca lowly calls his name, seconds after his father shouted it, Kylo hears that too. The mournful sound tears at him, helps to feed the doubt churning in his gut.

Vicious assurances from within tell Kylo what he must do here. Somewhere, deep inside, a lonely little boy cries out. There is no compassion for Ben, lost so long ago to the whispers in the night.

Lost to the light, which even now is fading all around them. Starkiller is charging up, the crackle of the solar energy building up around them. When it fires, it will obliterate the Illenium system and with it, his mother. Kylo drinks the surging power in, bolstering himself on the idea claiming he is one with the mighty weapon Hux controls.

Han wants to see his face as if looking upon the man Kylo turned into  will create a different denouement to what is unfolding. They both know how this confrontation will end. Kylo pulls from Han’s mind the fresh memory of Leia begging him to bring their boy home.

General Organa sent her husband on a suicide mission, Kylo realizes with agitation. Her training as a tactician would highlight the sacrifice she asked of her husband as she made the hard decision to trade one life for another. Kylo can see it, writ large in Han’s thoughts; how Leia clung to Han, her frail arms like bands of steel holding onto him for dear life.

Her last words to Han ring in Kylo’s ears, “If you see our son again, bring him home.”

The meditation is spiraling away from Kylo taking on a life of its own that Kylo can’t control. Panic ripples through him, the story of his life.

His conversation with Han rushes rapidly by him. Only snatches stick this time: _my son is alive. Snoke is using you. He’ll crush you. It’s true._

Of course Kylo knows, as soon as he’s outlived his usefulness he’ll be disposed of, an example to the other Knights. He thinks of the two newest Knights, little more than children in his eyes although they are separated only by a handful of years. He always encouraged their small rebellions, even sheltering them on occasion. Kept the hateful bitch who tried to destroy him away from them.

This isn’t about them, though. Han’s face swims up into his vision again. Kylo thought his indecision on the bridge, the ever present call from the light, created a brutal contest within to tear him apart. The ripping sensation enhanced and doubled, Kylo’s confusion and pain the twin of what Han Solo concurrently experienced.

 _I’ve lived with and loved the strongest Force-users in the galaxy, don’t you think I know something about you_ , Han’s mindvoice was strong here, at the end.

Indecision flits through Kylo, he searches for a sign – anything that will help him decide the rest of his life. In cruelest mockery the signal comes, the dying of the light as the shaft of the oscillator is plunged into darkness Kylo does what he must to bind himself to the Supreme Leader.

The ease with which Kylo kills his father is still a surprise. He expected Han to fight him, instead Han chose to guide his hands knowing Kylo’s intentions. Expectation beat in his blood as Kylo waited for the dark side of the Force to fill him, completing his transformation.  Instead he experienced a moment of weak-kneed relief before, for an impossibly long heartbeat, Kylo lost contact with the Force.

Then Han placed one gentle hand against the side of Kylo’s face, infusing a golden bubble of memory into Kylo. Han playing with Ben, teaching him how to pick pockets, showing him how to properly hold a blaster, the warm clap on a shoulder of a job well done. A curious fragility arced through Kylo, rooting him to the spot.

Red-tinged agony pierces his side, sight and sound disappear and Kylo is adrift in the dark with nothing but throbbing anguish to anchor him.

_“Bring our son home.”_

“I have no home!” Kylo shouts, his face a rictus of suffering and distress.

Breath bellows into Kylo’s lungs, his chest constricting, becoming too small and the wound in his side aches. Awareness seeps back in, strong arms around him, soft soothing noises being murmured into his temple, fingers gently rubbing his back. Hux.

His only constant.

Yet, this is one thing Kylo can’t share. His grief for his father… foisting such bitter emotion onto Hux is horrendously unfair. Kylo can’t help but remember the dream story and  he won’t inflict this on Hux, the man had been tormented by the man who should have protected him.

With more strength than he thought he still possessed, Kylo jerks away from Hux and pulls his body onto the couch. He presses his face into the arm of the sofa before curling into a ball, old instincts warning that only by internalizing the pain can he protect himself.

“I don’t know what this is about…” Hux trails off, his voice growing shallow and distant as if he is listening. “This is about your father?”

Somehow Kylo curls deeper into himself, his knees pressing dangerously on his throat. Terror beats with black wings around him, he can’t share this. He can’t.

“I don’t understand but I do know that you wouldn’t be here without his sacrifice,” Hux is kneeling next to him, curling around and over Kylo, doing what he can to pull Kylo back from the brink.

Unable to speak, Kylo vehemently shakes his head. No. No, please don’t dig at this. No, leave me alone.

A perturbed huff of air ruffles Kylo’s hair. “You wouldn’t be free of Snoke’s influence if not for Han Solo. I may not like the man, but he did what he could for you.”

A warm presence settles around Hux, a faint flickering in the force, like heated air that distorts the horizon. He pushes back, presses the Force against whatever shadows Hux but encounters nothing.

Imagining things in order to ignore what he’s done, whispers the old guilt as it sinks skeletal fingers into Kylo again. Patricide weighs heavily and Kylo doesn’t know what there is or if there is anything he can do to atone for this.

“I would have gladly killed my own father.” Hux speaks softly, slow and thoughtful words and with each of them his lips brush over Kylo’s temple in a silent benediction. “But yours was different. Do you think Han would rather live and leave you trapped with that monster? No. He understood what he allowed you to do.” For all their gentleness, his words aren’t hesitant at all. They carry conviction and like a starved plant towards the sun, Kylo begins to unfurl into Hux’s embrace.

“She wanted him to bring me home,” the words escape before Kylo realizes it. His voice is thick and gravelly and there is a slight tightening of Hux’s arms around him as missing pieces slot into place.

“You do have a home. Your home is with me.”

He doesn’t cry, not a single tear escapes as Kylo absorbs the responsibility for his actions, accepts the pain he inflicted on himself as his due. A punitive inner storm that flays him, strips away the lies Kylo built up to protect himself. That Snoke built into a cage to hold him and a leash to yank. He shakes in the strong circle of Hux’s arms, twisting until his face is pressed in the hollow between Hux’s neck and shoulder. A space that seems made for him, he so perfectly fits.

Kylo has to draw on inner foundations of strength he was unaware of, bases built around the name of ‘Ben’ to weather the realignment of his very self, the way his interior landscape shift until he understands perfectly where he is coming from and, more importantly, where he is going.

Hux’s hands clutch him too tight for comfort but the bruising grip and the pain assure Kylo this is real. No drug induced hallucination. No dream. He’s free of the past, all that is left is the future. He lifts his head and presses his cheek against Hux’s, his mouth close to Hux’s ear.

“You’re alive. As long as you're alive, everything is alright. You live.” Kylo whispers the words like a reverent prayer. Even softer, “I love you.”

Almost inaudible is Hux’s response, “I’m here. I hear you.”

All the tension seeps out of Kylo’s body. He doesn’t have to be in Hux’s mind to understand. When Kylo said those same words during their lovemaking, they gutted Hux and had been the trigger to send him into freefall. Hearing Kylo repeat those words now sets Hux’s heart to stuttering, his breath catching in his throat as hope and apprehension steal his voice.

“I know you do,” Kylo tells him warmly, the words conveying more than they should. In a way, they are both trapped by their positions, for them affection isn’t an advantage. They both care more than they should, more than is appropriate for men of their station.

With brusque movements, Hux pushes and pulls at Kylo until Kylo’s head is resting in Hux’s lap. Hux’s fingers slide lazily through the thick black hair while he stares down at Kylo. Discarded on the floor is Hux’s holopad, the thin machine is bent and the viewscreen cracked. The damage must have been inflicted by Hux when Kylo was trapped in the meditation. That, more than anything, speaks of how much he cares.

Contentment loops through Kylo, his eyes slip closed as he relaxes. Hesitant fingers slip over his brow. When Kylo doesn’t move or respond, they become bolder. Slide over his cheekbones, curl around his chin, skim over his nose. It feels right to settle into the touch, to turn his face into the offered solace. To let go with a smile and a sigh that carries more than his faulty words could ever express and turns into a low purr.

Against his cheek, Hux’s stomach tightens with secret laughter.

 

***

 

The bitter acridity of smoke curls in his lungs, unfolds within him and around his mind to spread his nascent awareness to the life around him until it brushes death. A waiting snake coiled to strike, handing out borrowed time with cheap smiles.

Kylo Ren is awake, ambulatory once more and regret a sour smell in his wake.

Once there had been a chance to save them all, when Hux had motherhenned over Ren, his attention eaten up by his fallen lover. Or before. On the shuttle, waiting to be dropped into combat. During combat.

A hundred missed opportunities that now haunt him in the still hours of night with cigarettes his only companions and this damned softly tinkling planet mocking him. In the shadows of the crystal trees overlooking the plateau and the facility sit two shuttles. One the facility’s main transport, the other brought them and with them their own death. He had wanted to kill Hux. Something had told him not to.

Their mockery is a dark whisper at the back of his thoughts. _Disable one_ , it says. _Kill everybody that stands in your way and leave Hux and his pet killer behind._

Everybody in the unit had been handpicked for character and skill. Not everybody is trustworthy. Not everybody is worth the work, those that are…

They could steal a shuttle and bomb the facility into oblivion. That should put an end to both the General and Ren. Bunny had begged him not to, but Bunny only goes so far.

‘You should listen to her,” murmurs a low voice in his ear, oddly familiar by now like the wrecking shiver that accompanies the dead and the unknown.

“She’ll get herself killed before she hurts a patient. It’s in her blood.”

‘Would it be worth it to destroy her over it?” He hears the smile and snorts.

“Her life?” Another drag on the tobacco, another dose that does not quite work anymore. He used up a month’s supply in the last week alone. “Bloody damn well, yes.”

It would be so easy, he thinks and forms it into words. “I don’t have to kill them. Take the shuttle, destroy the other, take off.”

‘And leave Hux and Ren for Snoke to find? Really?”

“What is it that makes their life worth more than ours? What?” He flips the last fingerspan of the rolled up tobacco into the night, following the dying star path until the glow snubs out.

‘If you walk down that path you will lose everything that is worth being you and you know it.’

“Worth being me? Really? A slave, a chained dog dancing at its master’s command? An outlier perpetually in danger of discovery and…”

‘Calm your thoughts,” the voice whispers, tinkling softly in the trees. A promise, not quite an assurance. ‘You already know the truth. Trust in the Force.”

“The Force…” Dead-born laughter chokes him into silence. “What has it ever…”

No, that’s a lie. He is here because something let him do more, be more than others. His most precious are here because of it, alive as of yet. It brought him through the darkest days and worse, the nights.

Half-remembered childhood fairy tales. He had not really been surprised when his dreams had started talking to him.

“Trust?” He now amends. “That they won’t kill us because we have become all of us one gigantic liability to the General’s survival? He can’t let us go back. We know that Ren lives and they’re in cahoots.”

‘You are afraid.’

“Surprising, isn’t it?” His words drip with venom, manifestation of a pain he can’t quite grasp, the broken promise of years of hope that he had made it.

‘Emotion,’ the whisper washes over him. ‘yet peace.’

Closing his eyes, he reaches for another cigarette.

‘What did I tell you?’

“Fear is the path to the dark side.” He snorts a chuckle. “I’m just a soldier. That really is a bit deep for me.”

‘It really isn’t,” comes an answer that might have been a laugh and the warmth a steadying hand might spread through the fabric of his shoulder armor. ‘Tell me.’

He lights the next cigarette and drags the smoke deep into his lungs.

“Ignorance, yet knowledge.” The words feel foreign on his tongue.

Around him the darkness settles, broken only by the occasional stray shimmer of starlight refracted by crystal leaves. It is three hours still, until his shift ends.

Syllables curl around the smoke as he lets go of both and closes his eyes, secure in the knowledge that he would feel anything creeping in the dark long before he saw it.

“Passion, yet,” here his voice fails him for a moment, “...serenity.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a while back we (pk, Kat, and Eridani) all had a funny misunderstanding. See, we had talked about Kylo having a shrine to Hux on the Finalizer after Kylo thought he was dead. During the planning stages is was just a display and then when it came to write the whole thing... pk had Hux lying in state in an empty room, thinking it was Hux in stasis on an altar in Kylo's dreams. One thing followed another which turned into problematic dream sex in front of said altar. Which because a thousand times creepier thinking that Kylo and Hux (and eventually Ben, because hey - problematic dream sex is problematic...) were having sexy times in front of Hux's dead body. Because - awk-ward! All because Eridani asked, "what do you mean by lying in state?" After explanations followed the dawning realization that we were about to have accidental necrophilia added into our problematic dream sex. No no no! Bad authors! No cookie!


	8. No More Bullets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was honestly never meant to be that long. Between KBB and editing KBB this should just be some quick writing. Honestly, it was all already planned and halfway written. What could possibly take so long?  
> Here we are 12k words later and someone ready to bang their head against a wall :)
> 
> Heartfelt thanks, as usual, to [Eridani](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eridani/pseuds/Eridani), our Beta, who does everything, from pointing out glaring errors to making gentle 'tut tut' noises when we come crying at her virtual door. 
> 
> Very special thanks to [CyanideBreathmint](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CyanideBreathmint/pseuds/CyanideBreathmint) knowledge database and gun consultant extraordinaire.
> 
> Special Chapter Warnings (SCW):
> 
> \- alcohol abuse  
> \- references to child abuse  
> \- no blood, no gore

Kylo Ren and General Hux exist in each other’s vicinity like two suns orbiting in a gravitational lock. A complicated dance following no rules but their own. Even when they’re not facing each other, their relative positions determine where and how the other is.

Bunny smiles as she steps into the suite of rooms and first thing sees the General behind his desk, deceptively relaxed. Like a mythical beast guarding a hoard, he shields his still recuperating partner and whoever wants to get to Kylo Ren, has to go through Hux first.

 

“General,” she salutes and is granted entrance with a majestic wave. Hux doesn’t look up from his datapad, his fingers tapping away with single-minded fury. This remains the only chance for her to gauge his physical state and the healing progress on his injuries. He makes a show of typing, trying especially hard to prove he is well.

No word has been spoken about the incident, no knowledge confirmed that she  saw him broken and destroyed and between them Hux seems determined to keep it that way. Bunny, good soldier that she is, would never dare to not act on her commander’s silent cue.

 

Kylo Ren on the couch watches both of them with a knowing smile. He sprawls across the leather,  in clothing that might once have fitted, but  now hangs on his body like a burlap sack. Other than that he looks decidedly comfortable. His shoulder-length hair is pulled back from his face in a messy bun, pushing his unique features into sharp relief. With an arm thrown lazily over the backrest and his legs curled under him, he looks like a languishing predator, a big cat waiting for a moment of inattention to pounce.

“Hey.” The smile comes easily as Bunny drops her bag next to him and finds herself the target of his grin. “So, is today an easy day or do we need to cheat and annoy the General.”

At her back, Hux snorts and bows deeper over his datapad. Kylo laughs.

“I’m not sure if the General is in the mood to be annoyed. I think I already fulfilled my daily quota there….”  

Hux would, though. He would drop whatever he is doing should Kylo Ren prove unable to handle the injections he still needs.

That terror hasn’t abated. No matter how much he trusts her, being injected with anything throws Ren right back into the torture chamber. Only his iron control and the fact he actually likes her keeps him from lashing out.

This precarious balance of trust has Flip pace their break room every time she leaves to take care of her patient. It, too, has Hux sit in unobtrusive silence whenever she comes near Kylo with her bag in hand. But at the core, it’s Bunny trusting the Master of the Knights of Ren not to kill her and him trusting her not to poison him.

She usually fills the injector in the corridor, sparing him the drawn out visuals of filling the syringe with the nutrition solution. The banter they engage in is part of the ploy to distract him from the last of the preparations.

“Then we’ll have to do this without him.”

Bunny reaches out with her left, palm up.  An offer. The decision to bare the vulnerable inside of his arm to her is and must always be his to make. He hesitates.

“Come on,” she croons. “Be a good Kylo.”

Unexpectedly he flinches. His hands curl into fists as his shoulders bend inwards, protecting his vulnerable core. At the corner of her eyes, Hux stiffens.

“Hey… hey, Kylo?” Bunny drops the injector into its case and snaps the lid shut with efficient motions. Normally that is enough to break the terror. Not today.

He stares ahead, his lips pulled into a tight line, fingernails digging into his palms.

“Hey,” Bunny tries again and very slowly and very gently extends a hand, leaving him ample time to refute the touch or move away.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

She drops the hand.

“No…” He starts and stares at her hand, then at her face. “That’s not what I meant. I... “ His mouth closes with a click of his teeth and a deep frown as his gaze sweeps over her once and then lands firmly on the wall above her head. “Can you not call me that?”

“Call you what? Kylo?” She notices it too late and this time, she's the one to flinch. “Sorry.”

Ren draws his impressive brows together, but his shoulders lower a little.

“Yeah. Don’t,” he murmurs and drops his gaze to his hands until they unfurl.

Stormtroopers were raised to efficiency, taught from earliest childhood to eschew anything not strictly necessary to their service or their task at hand. Valuing friendship, supporting each other was punished rather than praised. Only those who lived by those rules thrived. Usually.

“Want to tell me why? And what to call you instead?”

Her fingers curl around his, barely managing to span his palms. His smile as he notices is already worth to bare herself like that in front of the General. 1120 and Flipside both would now give a long-suffering sigh and remind her that she poses a security risk. Bunny could not care less.

“Snoke named me that,” he sighs, his fingers squeezing hers with a lot more gentleness than Flip gives him credit for. “I don’t know what I will settle on in the end, but that will not be it.”

“Ren is fine?”

“Yes. That’s a title and I earned that title with my blood.” Under her fingers his pulse thuds noticeably, but he does not pull away. He smiles.

“Alright, Ren. Then we’ll use that.” Their gazes meet over their hands.  “Can I stick you now?” She asks and Hux in the background goes back to typing.  

“You know… “ Kylo’s gaze flicks to the General once, his murmur just soft enough not to carry that far , but Bunny already heard every iteration of the talk that accompanies this particular gleam in his eyes.  

“No,  we can't postpone.  You have only two choices here,  Ren.” The name rolls easily off her tongue, associated with him long before he became ‘Kylo’

“I do? “

“Say ‘yes’ or say ‘be gentle’” Her grin mirrors his eyeroll perfectly. “Won’t change the outcome,  but there is a choice involved. I might even kiss it better, if the General permits.“

“He would,” the distinguished voice in the background comments not without a fine thread of humor.

“Pah, then go ahead and poke me, you little monster. “

He flinches anyways,  when she does it,  his gaze locked on Hux's still form,  but he makes no sound.

 

***

 

Hux wakes in the early hours of morning, shoots up from restless dreams, only to be caught by Ren’s arms and the soft murmur that vanishes in Ren’s drool soaked pillow.

“You’re safe. They won’t get past me.”

He looks so young, saying this. Fast asleep again already.

Ren may be awake and of clearer state of mind than he possibly ever was, but his body is far from recovered. Every minute he spends training needs to be bought in equal currency with sleep. He should be eating for three, but can’t, his body no longer equipped to deal with the amount of food he needs. That, in turn, makes nutrient injections necessary and those are their very own kind of nightmare.

Hux extricates himself gently from Ren’s unyielding embrace, bribes him with a brush of lips against his cheek until Ren turns with a gentle murmur and invariably drags his arm aside.

 

With a smile that he’d never dare let anybody see outside these rooms, Hux walks into the bathroom and moves through his morning routine with quiet efficiency and the safe knowledge that he wrangled his razors back from Ren. Shaving just doesn’t feel right with electric or sonic shavers.

 

When Hux emerges from the bathroom, freshly showered and immaculately dressed, Ren has curled around the empty spot on the bed with an expression of hopeful longing. The kind of expression that promises heartbreak if he wakes alone, helpless plaything to his demons.

 

“I am real. I am around. Tracker ID BH-1205-GRD.” Staring at the words he himself just wrote, Hux smiles at the ridiculousness of it all. At the idiocy of hope and the irrationality of freedom he feels. Here. Like this. With Ren and this sumptuous bedroom and all the blood and the pain that radiates from both of them sometimes like a shockwave, yet is refracted and softened by the other’s presence.

It is ridiculous anyways, so he soaks a corner of the paper in his skin care oil before he presses the note into Ren’s hand and curls the man’s fingers around it.

 

I am here. I am not dead.

The wish to murder Snoke by now is such a common occurrence that the thought itself is no longer worth mentioning.

 

Nobody crosses his path on his way. The Stormtroopers rarely venture past the communal kitchen, too intimidated by him and Ren, or by Flipside’s orders.  

One of the first things Flipside had done was to set up shifts, watch, training, recreation, cut into easily manageable four-hour chunks. It keeps them busy and Hux prefers it that way. Although he can emphasize with people well, tell them what they want to hear to mold them and their reactions to his liking, his capacity for sympathy or worse, for compassion, has been cut off, burned and left to wither away at too young an age to recover.

He is good with people, but he doesn’t like them most of the time. And those he does like have no ways left to close the divides his upbringing created.

With very few exceptions.

 

As he walks into the kitchen he finds 1120 at the table, surrounded by a wild disarray of tools cluttering the table top. His tool bag lies unrolled and carelessly shoved aside. The man himself sits bent low over his pilfered Republican scope, his fingers resting featherlight against the hull that shields the sensitive optics.

1120's gaze wanders slowly beyond the object in his hands, searching for something in the heap of bent and dented material that will never be useful again. There is a metaphor hidden in that image, paired with his ruddy exterior that always makes him look less than ideal, the hair past regulation length, the hands too big to handle something this precise. 1120 is the exact opposite of a people person. Outwardly, he is the exact opposite to General Brendol Hux II.

“Morning, 0-5,” he grumbles without looking up and Hux allows himself a small smile  as he pours himself a cup of caf.

“Morning, 1120. Still with the scope?”

Someone ate the last Meiloorun nutrition bars, Hux notes with jarring displeasure. He grabs a Shef’na bar instead and drops on a chair opposite the other sniper, still with a healthy safety margin between him and the chaos on the table.

“Vibration jars it loose and I got no resin to dampen it.”

“You could go back to the regulations scope.” Hux sips his coffee and leans back, watching with amusement how disgust spreads over 1120’s not very likable features.  

“I don’t work with shitty equipment,” 1120 quips in response and twists the last screw tight on the frame that holds the optics.

Hux presses his fingertips against the hot plast of the coffee cup, waiting for anger to rise in reflex to an insult to the FO. He waits. Waits five heartbeats, but nothing stirs but faint amusement at 1120’s ill-tempered opinion. Still he has to react.

“Careful, trooper. That’s dangerously close to treachery.”

1120 snorts, hefts the weapon up and presses it against his shoulder with a practiced movement, barrel fixed on some point far out over the gorge.

“Who’s gonna tell on me?” His gaze flits sideways, moves over Hux and back to the scope with a grin. “You?”

“When was your last reconditioning?” He knows of course. Somehow this man managed to go fifteen months without. Not unusual with a trooper settled and set in their unit, but 1120 is so obviously faulty in his whole setup that Hux can only wonder if Flipside is that good at hiding him or if Phasma turned a willfully blind eye.

Now 1120 puts down his gun, leaning it with the greatest care against the table to pack up his tools. He seems, to Hux’s continued astonishment, unfazed by any of this. Fearless in the face of the man who decides if he lives or dies, even intentionally ignorant of Hux’s identity.

“I am the best sniper,” 1120 now says, “not only on the _Finalizer_ , but possibly in the whole First Order. The reason for that is my ability to deviate from the precast path of my orders, to think in the situation and modify my response accordingly.”

“That is treachery,” Hux warns with ice in his voice that he still doesn’t feel, his reaction to the man’s words nothing but the expected.

1120 snorts.

“You are not the Order’s best tactician because you follow executive regulations to the dot. You are because you know them by heart and every parameter that hinges on them. You know every possible situation simulation and then you modify them as a situation needs it. You were able to slot seamlessly into this unit because you studied our patterns and then fit yourself in, deviating from your standard training.” The passion under 1120’s word is unmistakable, no matter the cold delivery. _Individuality breeds insecurity. Conformity forms unity._ The words Hux had grown up on.

But they were wrong, his mind cried. A uniform mass was unable to handle the slightest deviations. They always stuck out. If you colored a polished plane in the same color, every dust speck was a visual insult. It was, of course, possible to remove every little disturbance to retain the uniformity, but at some point, this became a futile exercise. Every touch to the surface left a trace, a break of the mold that needed to be corrected and at some point maintenance became all encompassing.

A surface that was allowed to retain a certain amount of irregularities, bumps, discolorations, minor shadows, was much better equipped to handle these deviations, yet still from a distance looked just as even. The more irregular - individual - the surface was, the more it evened out the natural tendency for….disorder.

Hux breathed a slow exhale through the faint thread of terror that threatened to overtake him.

“Go on,” he said and gripped his cup tighter, the heat a narrow point of singularity to tether him. It found an expression in warmth that spread from his shoulder. Not welcome, but grounding nonetheless.

“Reconditioning takes that ability from me. My hit quote in simulations sinks about three percent, my quote in combat situations sinks about 5 percent. This scope?” 1120 lovingly brushes the back of his index finger down his rifle and smiles. “Will raise it by about 2 percent with extreme range shots. More, once I fix the socket.”

His gaze rises to meet Hux’s and his smile deepens. “Admit it, you want to test it.”

Hux narrows his eyes, but 1120 doesn’t falter. “For the advancement of the Order. For Science, 0-5. For science!”

 

***

 

“Five south. Two east.” 1120 murmurs without lowering his binoculars. “Not bad.”

“But not a hit,” Hux replies with the same calm and adjusts the scope. 1120 had only changed the scope itself but left the fastening mechanisms intact. Still it took some getting used to.

“But damn close for a first try.”  

“Close only counts….” Humor is easily found up here on the roof in the dewy morning light, the air calm around them, sun caressing their backs. 1120 barks a low laugh as Hux loads the next bullet. He loves the tangible proof of the shot, the split second of contact with the instrument of the kill, like a personal benediction.

There had been a short discussion around the time when Starkiller’s construction had started to replace the projectile rifles with railguns, the latter less reliant on loose pieces like bullets. In the calculations, the bullet purchases had prevailed in the end. The reusable energy cells of the railguns did not make up for the immense costs of the guns themselves. Hux had only participated as engineering advisor, not high enough in the command structure yet to vote himself. In the end, cost concerns had prevailed. To Hux’s very private joy.

 

Sight through 1120’s scope is crisp and clear, but its real strength lies in the way it balances the light refraction from the moisture rising from the gorge. Hux had let the other sniper chose the target and he had not been disappointed. Although only 1649 meters away, terrain, altering light conditions and the size of the leaf triplet turn it into a challenge.

They turn it into something that Hux can conquer, can beat, but still simplistic enough, a challenge, not a strain. He shies away from the word “sport”.

“Wind’s up to 5.”

Hux breathes deeply once and lets the air flow from his lungs in a long slow exhale.

On the other side of the gorge, jagged rocks cut into free air, protecting between them small groves of trees. Maybe ten meters below the rock edge hangs one lone tree with its branches reaching out across the yawning chasm, a myriad clear blue and violet tinted crystals creating a cheerful symphony when they dance in the wind. On the middle branch, gorge side, a smaller branch grows contrary to gravity and on this hangs, among others, a singular leaf triplet.

With his first shot, Hux had aimed too high, hit center mass the main branch behind and proven that these trees only looked like fragile products of a frilly artist’s mind. The damage they could obviously take spoke of high material density and that, in turn, made them interesting to him. In a purely theoretical manner.

Another breath. 1120 whispers. “Wind 2.”

Hux zeroes in on the juncture where the leaf triplet meets the smaller branch. Not as easy a shot, but if he calculates the angle correctly it balances the draw of his barrel and the scope.  

He lets his conscious stretch, expand and narrow until that branch is all that fills it. Normally he doesn’t let himself go that far but with 1120 as his spotter there is no worry. The sniper won’t let anything happen to him. The most prolific killers usually have the strictest codes of honor.

Another breath. He exhales slowly. In his mind, he slowly counts down from five. Not seconds. A metric solely his own, timing his breath until his body has completely settled. There is nothing to see, nothing to know, nothing to think. A spot and a trigger.

….2...1.

His finger bends. The rifle jerks in his hands, the field of vision temporarily broken.

“Shit…” 1120 grumbles and Hux knows.

“How far off?”  

The grumbling continues as Hux searches the triplet again, disappointment a lead weight in his belly that speaks with his father’s voice.

“1120! How far?” Hux reigns himself in immediately. The sniper doesn’t deserve his anger nor his inability to deal with with failure.

“Lev.”

At this Hux looks up, does not move, only lift his head, just enough to glance to the side.

“My people call me Lev, that is my callsign.”

“No, they don’t.” Hux scowls. “When we attacked…” they hadn’t called him at all. Flipside had only ever said “sniper” and included them both. “Just give the numbers, Lev.” The name rolls off his tongue, an insanely personal twist to their cordial relationship. A warm balance to the disappointment.

“One south, one east,” the team sniper murmurs with his eyes glued to the binocs. “That bastard is fucking resilient.”

The leaf triplet hinges, half severed on the upper half of its stem.

“ _Really_?” Hux grumbles and stares through the scope, the deep gouge that cuts into the branch right at his target’s base. “What are these things made of?”

“No idea, but I want an armor made of it.”

With a snort that might just be an aborted laugh Hux loads another bullet. “And a new scope.”

“No, I already got a new scope.”

Through that scope, the continued existence of the leaf mocks Hux’s competitive streak.

He breathes once more, feels his shoulders settle, the strain bleeding through him and into the plastcrete of the roof.

Two troopers stand watch at the facility entrance, another on an advanced post on the other side of the landing field, armed with anti-aircraft grenades. Flipside is somewhere below, a dangerous man, opaque to Hux’s empathy. So much so that he only now dares to leave Ren alone in his vicinity, no matter how much Bunny had latched onto Ren, in the end, she is only…

Something there bugs Hux; has for days, but he just can’t put his finger on it. He knows that Bunny heavily influences the commander, much more so than his 2nd, 1120, but there is no  connection in their files that he can find.

Flipside had been brought into the Stormtrooper program at the relatively advanced age of six years and one month after a natural disaster had devastated his planet and orphaned him and his sister. DG-1516 had been 22 months old. She had died 5 years later from the infection acquired in a relatively harmless training accident. They had been stationed in different facilities. Maybe it is that. Maybe Flipside remembers in some primal part of his brain that he once had had someone Bunny’s age to protect. As explanations go it is  good enough. Still it feels not right.

“Wind at 3. Direction stable.”

Hux takes the same deep breath and lets it go, expelling the remnants of his thoughts with it, dipping into the calm void that lies below the continuous stream of his conscious and that he only ever reaches with a gun in his hand and a goal outside his mind in sharp relief through a scope.

“C’mon, 0-5. Kill that fucker.”

3...2...1. His finger bends. The rifle jerks in his hands. Next to him Lev hisses in triumph.

Hux’s shoulder is jostled by the impact of Lev’s hand, breaking his concentration. It doesn’t matter. A clean hit.  

“I feel like a Junior at their first proficiency test.” Hux fights hard to keep the pleased grin off his lips and fails miserably at Lev’s full-bellied laugh.

“What does that make me? Your inappropriately proud trainer?”

Contentment settles warmly in Hux’s belly, not unlike the afterglow of good sex.

“No trainer of mine was ever inappropriately proud,” Hux quips and pushes up, slowly, to give his limbs time to adjust to the movements after the long immobility. “I was top of every class, unlike you.”

Lev doesn’t react to the jab, he continues to pack his stuff and stretches with a grin still lingering on his face. “It’s not my fault that they took so long to find my specialty. The _Sondaboor_ just puts absolutely unnecessary weight on short range rifle training to the detriment of everything else. Not that I want to complain or anything.” He side eyes Hux with a shrug. “Guess that’s probably the reason for Bunny’s bad scores, too. That girl just got no eye for shooting.”

Hux pauses in the task of unscrewing 1120’s scope from his rifle and looks up.“I thought they blamed that on the infection?”

The _Sondaboor_ was one of their Academy ships, an old destroyer. Repurposed to house several generations of trainees at once, they were exceptionally successful in training ground troops, not so much with the rest.

Fifteen years ago Kuat-Entralla had delivered a batch of recycled water filters, one of a million that had been in service in the First Order in lieu of new filters they couldn’t afford. This one batch had been contaminated with Lebuon red worms.

Almost a hundred students had died, another 200 had been unsuitable after. Even those deemed sufficiently recovered had not always escaped unscathed, but in those days the First Order had still been in short supply of soldiers, so the injured trainees had been reintegrated despite their damage, especially the younger ones with their still developing, plastic brains.

Lev’s gaze shifts, the skin around his eyes drawn tight. “That, too.”

 

***

 

Hux returns to their suite with a spring in his step and his mind in turmoil. He finds Ren in nothing but loose training pants loitering in the office chair behind his desk and a triplet of beautifully formed leaves lying on the desk almost like an afterthought. The open window behind him provides a prime view of the gorge. A perfect frame for Ren’s smile as he plays with a small sheet of paper in his hands. The rest of the papers on the table remained undisturbed.

It’s almost enough to make Hux forget his question. Almost.

“Ren, I know you have been in Bunny’s head. Have you ever encountered any evidence for scarred areas? Brain damage?”

Ren tilts his head and draws his brows in confusion, obviously expecting a much different greeting. Hux is already at his side and grabs for his datapad, calling up the files of both Flipside and Bunny and throws them at the holoprojector. Almost as an afterthought he adds Lev’s for good measure.

Ren watches him, yawns and wraps one of his long arms around Hux’s middle, his other hand playing idly with the stem of the leaf triplet.

“You caught it for me…”

Ren smiles and presents Hux his spoils. “What has your mind in such a twist, my General?”

With a careful finger Hux strokes around the uneven border of one crystallized leaf, reveling in the gemlike beauty of the material.

“Does she have neural scarring?”

“I don’t think so. I can’t say for sure without delving real deep, but it doesn’t feel as if something is missing.”

Hux curls his fingers around the leave and Ren’s fingers with careful reverence while his eyes scan the data.

“Bunny missed her last suppression shot. They’re mandatory for Lebuon infections….”

“I have literally no idea what you are talking about,” Ren says and pulls Hux into his lap. “But you will explain it to me. Use small words.”

 

***

 

“Enter!” Hux calls and Flipside enters, unmasked, shocking Hux once more with his unexpected beauty. This man would be just as successful as a whore on Core One as he is as a Stormtrooper. Unwelcome as the thought is Hux can’t deny, no matter where the man is posted, one side loses. But he rather has him as a soldier than a cheap entertainment for overfed bureaucrats. The helmet may dampen the deep golden glow to his tanned skin, but at least he is achieving something.

“Lieutenant, what can I do for you?” The politeness comes easy to Hux, with his lover slouching behind him in the office chair, his feet propped up in easy abandon on the table. The sound of the chair swiveling in minuscule increments sounds like breathing in the silent room. It is a concession to Hux on Ren’s part that he carefully moved the papers before he dumped his boots on them.

He hadn’t expected Flipside quite so soon. So Lev noticed his lapse. Good.

“Sir, I would like to speak with you. Alone.” Flipside’s tone is strained, to say the least, pained almost and Hux casts a look over his shoulder to the monochrome caricature that sits like a contrast painting set off against the scenic window overlooking the gorge. The thought whispers in his mind that he needs him here for this. If he tries very hard, he can hear a stilted core accent.

“Speak Lieutenant, I have no secrets from Lord Ren.” And isn’t that the truth and one dangerous to disclose at that, Hux snorts inwardly. By now everyone in Flipside’s unit knows.

“Sir, I…” Flipside trails off in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. His eyes flit over to the menace behind Hux before he nods to himself, Adam's apple bobbing. “I wish to request, Sir, that when you kill my unit, I am granted the honor to take care of it myself, Sir.”

Behind Hux, the chair’s movements stop.

It is easy to dismiss Flipside’s bravado, the horror in his eyes hidden well with the way they lock on the wall above Hux’ right shoulder. The man is far too intelligent for his own good.

“Denied, Lieutenant,” Hux says and turns, walking to the desk, the window and the chair. Ren expects him, welcomes him with an outstretched arm that curls around Hux’s middle in an unprecedented show of possessiveness.

Looking out the window Hux lets his eyes roam, leaving it to Ren to watch his back and the stormtrooper he had just emotionally gutted. Ghostly fingers brush over Hux’ thoughts and are granted access. Of course, they are.

Behind him, watched carefully by the wolf-like creature that Hux calls his own by sheer miracle, Flipside shifts. “Sir, these are my men, it is my duty to make sure their deaths are…”

“Lieutenant.” Hux cuts in and notes with satisfaction the immediate silence. It started to rain sometime in the past hours while he tried to piece together the puzzle of Flipside’s deception. Raindrops catch the light from the room and throw back a splintered mirror image in pale red and black. A cut up person, never quite put together in the right way again.

“I respect your sentiment, Flipside, but three reasons, one:” Hux raises a hand and buries it in the lush mess of Ren’s hair, drawing the man’s head back until their gazes meet. “I would never demand of a man to kill his beloved sister.”

Turning his head, he finds his Lieutenant’s eyes and with a quirk of his lips acknowledges his surprise. “I may be callous, Lieutenant,  but I am neither blind nor stupid and though you might die soon after, I find myself weary doing that to you regardless.”

Warm spreads in Hux thoughts, approval that he doesn’t need, that is welcome nonetheless. Reward, positive reinforcement.

 

_I am not your dog, Ren._ He pushes outward to his lover’s laughter.

_Are you sure? I’d like to bring you to heel and wag your tail, my General._

_Oh shut up, you twat._ Hux has to turn away then, his fair skin a curse with Ren in his thoughts. He reddens far too easily.

_Would you really kill them?_ Ren, undisputably Ren, asks and Hux curls his finger deeper into his locks, tugging gently.

_I thought about it. They know too much, about me, about you._ A beat of silence. _But I don’t want to. They’re valuable. It would be wasteful._

_You like them!_ Delight filters through and Hux finds himself in the focus of Ren’s gaze, happy and a touch hungry.

Behind them, Flipside shifts again, this time with purpose as the silence drags into five seconds. Hux is too easily distracted by the man at his side, but damn, he just found him. His. For once solely his.

“Secondly, Lieutenant,” Hux looks up and finds the Stormtrooper’s gaze mirrored in the window. “I wouldn’t risk giving a man as resourceful as you are, the chance to stage his sister’s death. Again.” This time, Hux doesn’t bother to hide his smile.

“Three: as your commander it is _my_ duty to your men and you, to make sure your deaths are painless and free of unnecessary cruelty.”

Ren’s head drops against his hip, heavy with a sigh as he closes his eyes and pushes against the fingers carding through his hair. It is a soft gesture, an incriminating one, but Hux can’t find it in him to berate the man, too caught up in the warmth of his happiness.

“You are, I am sure, aware of the immense risk you and your unit pose to me and what’s mine.” Hux can feel Ren’s gaze bore into the Lieutenant’s. It’s slightly disconcerting to see Flipside’s mirror image flinch in the window.

“But Flipside, you are also of an immense value to me, as a commander and your men as a high functioning combat unit. I would, though…” At that Hux taps Ren’s ear twice and is released immediately of the octopus clutch of his embrace to turn and regard the pale man in the middle of the room. Flipside stands tall and proud and starkly lonely, gaze locked straight ahead and his lips pressed into a tight line, testament to his remarkable self-control. Hux wonders what it takes to break it. Ren pinches his thigh.

“I would, though,” Hux starts again, with a mental reprimand to his lover. “reassign GB-5601.”

The Stormtrooper’s hands clench.

“She is a horrible Stormtrooper and I’d rather have her retrained as nurse or doctor to take advantage of her full potential.” Hux watches Flipside’s slowly blink, the subtle way his facial features soften, turning into something that Hux, were he an artist, would use as a template to paint relief.

“Sir…”

“Only of course, if you, as her commanding officer, agree.”

_That man will die for you now, Hux._

_That’s what I’m counting on._ Hux imagines brushing soft lips over Ren’s brow and finds to his amusement, the man, in reality, closing his eyes.

“I do, sir.” A spark has sprung up in Flipside’s amber eyes and Hux has to fight a smile at the hope that radiates from him.

“Very well, then Captain Phasma will verify her transfer and… Flipside… should I find that you and yours need to die, you will not have time to regret your allegiance to me.” He smiles. “But I can assure you, that this time is not now.”

 

This time, the Lieutenant audibly exhales.

“Thank you, sir.”

“We all fight better when we know what we are fighting for. Dismissed.”

No answer comes. Flipside turns and walks out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

It would have  taken a very keen eye to see the way his hands shook.

“I’m gonna fight him.” Ren’s words cut softly through the silence, leave Hux reeling a second before he regains his balance.

“What? Why?”

“I have to or Snoke will get his finger on him and we will lose one of our biggest assets and Flipside will lose...everything.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Ren.”

Ren shrugs  and swivels the chair, turning to Hux with one of his signature crooked smiles and slides both hands around Hux’s middle, looking up at him with appreciation in his gaze.

“Well done, General.”

Hux musters him before he curls his fingers around his cheek and lets go.

“While I am not your dog, Ren, I’d not be averse to be rewarded now.”

Fire springs up in Ren’s eyes and he lowers his gaze to Hux’s crotch, lowering his head until he can nuzzle the fabric that hides Hux’s growing erection.

“Will you scream prettily for me, as I make you come, my General?

 

***

 

“Phasma,” Hux states with clipped efficiency and settles into the chair behind the desk. “Reina.”

“General.” His secretary tilts her head, her eyes, he knows see more than anybody else’s, narrow slightly. “You have there…” She scratches her neck.

On the floor on the other side of the desk, Ren grins without faltering in his push-ups. The bruise is fresh, darkening still in bouts of pinprick pain. Ren wears only the loose training pants and it’s easy to see the scratches on his back, the indentations of teeth on his shoulder.

“Yes, I am aware Reina. I was present, thank you.”

She smiles.

“Your status reports, please.”

As Hux listens to his most trusted co-conspirators, Ren in the background settles into meditation. Sweat glistens on his body, little diamonds that accentuate the ridges of his muscles. Or what is left of them. While he is making huge strides, extending his stamina each day, filling out his shoulders once more as if his body longs to return to its natural state, Ren is not yet able to fight Flipside. But who is Hux to talk him out of stupid ideas?

_“I need a place to hide. A lightside place that will cover my Force signature. Strong enough to fool Snoke.”_

Not a stupid idea, but one that might prove impossible. Everything outside Snoke’s reach is within the reach of Luke Skywalker. By now the Resistance will have found their coveted hero and he will have started to train the scavenger. They say that Luke Skywalker relentlessly mapped the old Jedi temples in the Galaxy. Finding one he doesn’t know might be more difficult than any of them anticipate.

Watching Ren in meditation is only a minor distraction. Hux knows by now how his shoulders move when the tension seeps out of them, how his chest expands with deepening breaths, how his features change when he stops worrying….

“...we need to decide soon what we shall tell Son-Blas.” Reina closes and Hux starts.

He sees her face soften and where before he would have called her out, he responds to her smile with gentle self-deprecation now. “I apologize. It is not an easy situation. So, they want a meeting as soon as possible? Tell them they will get it. Two weeks. Being seen in a hover chair might lend credibility to the situation. And tell them to please bring demo models of the scopes they sell the Resistance. Should they deny the existence of said model, the refraction compensation says something else.”

Phasma tilts her head at that, but Reina takes note without comment.

“Phasma. Send me the updated files on the pirate activity please and contact Lieutenant Salan. Give him a tale of a cover for secret maneuvers, inquire about his sister’s health and he can build you the files you need. We are wrapping up here.” With absentminded precision, Hux realigns the papers and his new datapad to the corner of the desk. It had once belonged to the head of facility, another thing the good doctor had had impeccable taste in.

“Furthermore I will be sending you a file.  She needs to be taken out of the regular troops and will be placed in advanced medical training.”

“Sir?” Phasma’s question is accompanied by a raised eyebrow and Hux smiles.

“I talked to Lieutenant Flipside and we both are of the opinion that GB-5601 is wasted as a Stormtrooper. She might be perfect material for a nurse or a doctor, though. Stage a training accident. Rotate her out. Furthermore, we will need to reevaluate the Trooper program. It can’t be that someone like Bun… GB-5601 falls through the cracks like this. I know that command views the Stormtroopers as somehow lesser, but we can’t afford any kind of waste, especially not talent. I expect suggestions as soon as I am reconvalescent.”

“Sir.”

Phasma has developed opaqueness to an artform, a perfect soldier with no opinion and only the occasional opinionated eyebrow.

“And on top of that, get me every above average performing trooper or cadet who shows irregular behaviour. Not harmful behaviour towards their peers. The opposite. Compassion. If they have shown signs of discontent prior, even better.”

The woman on the other side of the holo connection tilts her head and one eyebrow shoots up, followed a moment later by the other.

Through the holo Hux can watch Ren breathe, a frown marring his brow, worried, but not in distress. Hux enjoys watching him like this, to be aware of his every movement, every need.  

“Sir….”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Sir, these men are loyal. My division is on top of things regarding signs exhibited by FN-21-”

“I know, Phasma.” His smile throws her. She blinks. “Get me these troopers.”

Hux Sr. never wanted anything but mass produced troops to fulfill every order and whim, led and controlled by officers that represented the iron fist of the First Order. Obedience above all else. Maybe that had been best in the times of his father, although Hux had substantial doubts, but times changed.

Only those who thought ahead, stayed ahead.

“Reina…” Hux watched the woman who had bandaged his scraped knees, who had sat at his bedside when he had been ill, who had defied his father in a myriad small ways, always undeterred by Hux’s terror born rejection.

Her daughter had learned to walk clinging to Hux’s hand and he had learned to hide love looking into her smiling baby face. The boy born on Arkanis could have loved them, could have showered them with affection and brotherly care. The Commandant’s son could not, never more than an invisible hand in the background that eased their way. Only to tear it away from them now.

“I’ll be honest, Reina. I want Senya and Fabian gone.” Hux stops her words with a raised hand and a sigh. “It is too dangerous. Both you and I are going to go up against the most powerful creature in the known universe and there are enough traces of me in their backgrounds to turn them into blackmail material. They’re half human and, I will be honest with you here as well, as detrimental that is within the First Order, it is a perfect cover for defection and I need people who spread information for me within the Resistance.”

Her face had softened listening to him, now her expression slams shut with unmovable finality.

“No.”

“Reina…”

“No, Bren.” Reina is not a naturally hard person, but in that moment she might just as well be hewn from stone. “You will not use my children for your games.”

“Those are not….” On the other side of the holo projection Ren’s eyes snap open and zero in with uncanny surety on Hux. He says nothing but warmth like an embrace wraps over Hux’s mind, stills his words and hammering heartbeat.

“Reina…” Hux takes a deep breath and starts again. “Senya’s recommendation letter for officer’s training bears my father’s signature. Fabian will be posted on the _Finalizer_ for his chemical engineering orientation and my ink on that order is so fresh it’s still wet.” Something shifts in Reina’s eyes at those words, the same kind of painful joy, silent pride and warmth that Hux time and time again had pretended to not see.

“He would love that,” she murmurs and Hux’s lips twist into an apologetic smile.

“I know,” he says and admits far too much with it. Ren resettles on the other side of the desk, arms crossed on the table top to prop up his chin while his eyes stay locked on Hux’s face.

“But it’s incriminating. They are too closely connected to me and as soon as someone starts to dig they will find you, they will find that someone gently helped Senya’s career along and your children become a target.”

“Would you sacrifice them?” The sadness in Reina’s voice is deep and old, the kind of sadness that weeps in the darkest hours of night for all the things that never had a chance to be, like Hux’s conscious. Before he can answer Ren already speaks.

“He would and it would break his heart.  But then, Hux would sacrifice pretty much everything for victory.”

Reina cannot see Ren as the projection is centered on Hux, so her gaze bores into Hux’s.

“Except you, Lord Ren.”

“Ah...maybe.” Ren’s wistful smile is for Hux alone. “Maybe not. I think that depends on what it gains him.”

“And he is never above using an opportunity,” Reina sighs and closes her eyes. “I will have to think about it.”  

“That is all I can ask of you.” Where she someone else, Hux would try to manipulate her, appeal to her sense of duty, her love for her children, her feelings for him, but Reina has worked with him long enough to know how he handles things and if he dares admit it, she is the person in the Galaxy who consistently see through his motives. More so than Ren. Even now.

That is the reason he types a code on his datapad and turns it towards the holoprojector. “I have authorised access to this file for you. If you have suggestions or concerns, please add them.”

Reina gives him a clipped nod and terminates the connection from her end, an unheard of reaction for her.

“You deserve it though,” Ren murmurs and Phasma nods.

“Yes, thank you. Both of you. Phasma, get me that list and if you have someone that you think might add something to this endeavor, please include them.”

“Yes, sir. And General… I approve of the plan.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

“And, if I may suggest…,” Phasma cuts in, waiting then for Hux’s signal to keep speaking, behind her holographic back Ren makes a decidedly childish face. “You and Lord Ren should look into ways to hide your thoughts from Snoke while you still have Ren at your disposal, General.”

Hux sighs. “Thank you, Phasma, we will think about it.” He thumbs out.

The office chair at his back is comfortable beyond compare, the leather firm yet inviting movement, it tilts slowly as he leans back and rubs his eyes, coaxes him to stretch slowly.

“Phasma is right. I’ll come up with something,” Ren offers and unfolds his long limbs with the easy grace of a hunter. “You need to eat, though.”

“I’d rather hit something, to be honest.”

With a laugh Ren pushes away from the desk. “Well then, General. The training room is at your disposal.” His face softens as his eyes glaze over with a far away look. “I’ve always loved watching you train.  I used to spy on you when I could.” Reverence colors his voice in memory, his steps already halfway to the door.

“You could have joined me at any time, you know?” Hux says and stands, the hint of a challenge peeking through.

“I didn’t dare.”

While he’s nowhere in the same league as Ren with fencing, he’s always enjoyed it and it shows in his method and execution. He would have thought that Ren had cherished the challenge and the subsequent triumph.

“Why not?  It’s not like I could beat you.”  

“But what if you did?” Ren grabs the standard Trooper function shirt he had thrown haphazardly over the couch earlier. “Kylo’s pride and reputation would have been tarnished.  I couldn’t have taken that risk.”

Hux stops next to him at the door and cocks his head. He watches, looks closely, clearly assessing the other man.  With a decisive movement, Hux salutes as if he were already holding a rapier, a debonair grin on his lips and every line of his body screaming _challenge_.

“And now, dear Ren?” the name is said with a caress and Ren shudders, smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, now you’re so on!  Winner gets the loser?”

 

***

 

Silk slides against skin as Hux sits up and away from the warmth that Ren radiates like a small sun. Once more rain patters against the windows and drowns out the deep, even breaths of the man under the covers, his moon-pale skin tinged in deep emerald by the silk. Hux’s hand stops halfway across the distance between them, suspended in the air like an afterthought, awaiting moment not quite here or there, like a ship without a destination.

He won. Maybe Ren let him win. It doesn’t matter either way.

‘Making love’ is the last thing he would ever have called what exists between them, yet he still can hear Ren’s soft gasps, the helpless little moans as Hux moved in him, lips locked against the skin of Ren’s shoulder blade. The utter, crushing gentleness Hux felt at each involuntary sound. Still does.

Tenderness…

With a snort, Hux stands and pulls the blanket over Ren’s shoulder. He doesn’t dare brush back Ren’s hair, sleep too precious a commodity for the Knight to risk for such petty whims.

Hux turns at the door at a softly protesting murmur from the bed to find Ren tangling his long limbs around the blanket, replacing the body that is no longer in his arms.

  


The adjacent room is as still as it ever is, illuminated only by the faintly glowing holo alert of a missed call. That is not unusual. Masking the origin of incoming calls is much easier than the destination of prolonged out-calls. So whoever it is, knocked and is now waiting. The intention to call back immediately falters, though, when he sees Reina’s ID. He suddenly isn’t ready.

 

The good doctor’s alcohol cabinet is much depleted these days, but not empty yet. Hux drank his way through all the truly expensive bottles to the point where he has to contend himself with the just good stuff. But any of that is still light years better than anything the First Order has to offer.

“That’s treason, Hux,” he murmurs and pulls out a bottle of Corellian brandy that has been half emptied in the week since he discovered it, leading a sad existence in the far back of the cabinet. Nothing flashy sets the brandy apart, no surprising notes or hidden layers, it’s smooth, warm and entirely pleasant.

He sees the faint blue mirage mirrored in the rain splattered window when he turns and heads for the desk. Nothing but a shimmer at the corner of his eyes, gone if he dares stare at it directly. So, he doesn’t acknowledge it and steps up to the window itself, close enough to the glass to feel the cold prickle against exposed skin. Acknowledging anything creates a vulnerability that Hux can’t afford and his ghostly companion is far too polite to not respect that.

Usually.

_“I used to love that brandy.”_ The sensation of the mild voice and how it twines through Hux’s thoughts is no longer foreign; it is so familiar in fact that Hux already listens at the first, tentative tingle. No fathomable reason exists why the Jedi appears only at night when the silence weighs the heaviest. But that in itself is an answer.

“I didn’t think Jedi were allowed to drink.”

The shadow image at Hux’s side laughs with glee and a hollow echo that sounds like a threat of something possibly worse. _“We were not allowed to get_ attached _to alcohol. Not the way you do lately.”_

Hux resists the impulse to make a face; that’s  the response of a less sophisticated man. Instead, he takes a healthy sip of the golden liquid. “Everything has been a bit trying. Still is.”

Silence reigns. Not that ghosts can shuffle uncomfortably, but it seems Kenobi at least attempts.

_“I should apologize, General…”_

Hux waves him off and snorts.

“What for? Opening my eyes when I was too cowed to do it myself?” The next sip, larger than the first, burns down his throat with welcome pain. “As long as I could convince myself that what I was doing was right, I could endure anything. I would have, to avoid taking that look in the mirror and see what...the truth.” The smile he attempts falters in a sad little twitch of his mouth. “I’m fine.”

_“Are you really, General?”_

The half imagined shadow man in the robe turns slowly, his scrutiny washing over Hux like a strange, not uncomfortable touch.

“What if… what if she says no and the worse comes to pass?” The question is out before Hux can think of the ramifications, about what it says about him that he still puts his own fear above the pain of his closest confidant and her family. Who might have become his own, had he even tried. The liquid in his glass sloshes idly the siren song of oblivion. After a glance at the knowing expression on the face of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s ghost he resists. Only in the mirror of the window can he see the smile.

_“I think,”_ the ethereal figure says and adjusts his stance until they both can watch the shadow of the gorge below, shrouded in darkness and rain. _“‘What if’ is not what bothers you. It rather is the perpetual specter of ‘why’. Why are you really doing this, Hux? To gain spies in the Resistance? Or to get them away from danger? And on whose behalf do you want to protect them if you do? Yours?”_

Hux shakes his head. “I lack that capacity.”

_“If you do, and note my ‘if’ please, then why are you doing it for her?”_

“It would be rather ungrateful of me to endanger her children and still demand her loyalty.”

_“Yet you ask her to send them away, into the unknown, away from her protection just because ‘there’ is not ‘here’? Which parent would do that?”_

“They’re both strong and clever and likable. Senya is a fully qualified communications engineer, Fabian is top of his class. The Resistance can’t be so stupid to let them slip through their fingers. We destroyed most of their top tier military and intelligence circles and they need to recruit desperately.”

_“What if it were Ren?”_

Another sip washes away the blazingly painful taste of Kenobi’s words.

“What of it?” Hux says and means ‘What the hell do you think I’m doing here, letting the man who still can’t function without 12 hours of sleep out of my sight, doing Force knows what while he is trying to hide from Snoke with my only assurance the words of two ghosts?’

_“Would you go with him if you could?”_

They share a look that knows, an understanding that this answer is already engraved in the fabric of both Hux’s and Ren’s life and no matter what happens, this answer will not change. Nor will the one that Hux gives as he looks away.

“But I can’t.”

_“You could fake your death and leave and nobody would be any wiser. Go with him. Somewhere nobody knows you. Snoke’s reach is not all encompassing, especially not without you.”_

You could…

The enormity of the thought rises from the depths of Hux’s subconscious with the earth-shattering power of moving tectonic plates and the dread of looking into the abyss.

... be who you wanted to be. Change the course that was plotted for you and that you were forced into against your child-self’s will. Leave everything behind and do what you want to do for once. Forsake the weight that rests on your shoulders. Live.

“No.” Looking at the glass in his hand, Hux closes his eyes and imagines what yes might have felt like. Then he smiles, his chest expanding on the power of one syllable and the knowledge of who he is; the person that walked out of a labyrinth of a thousand different paths of “could have been”. “It is not who I am, Kenobi.”

_“But you had that choice.”_

Hux rubs his hand over his face, rubs away any moisture that may have gathered in the corners of his eyes and turns towards the com.

“I am a selfish man… I want her by my side, not on the other side of the galaxy, happy and sound with her children, forgetting that I ever existed.

I want Ren whole and healthy and not eaten up by some mystical Force or an old monster on a throne. I am evil in that I would actually sacrifice, well, everything for it. If she hates me, when Senya and Fabian are safe...What of it?”

The bottle stands on the table, waiting next to the still expectantly blinking com-controller. With a sigh, Hux drains the glass and fills it once more with the next motion.

_“You are a bad man, Hux, but you are not evil.”_

“I destroyed the Hosnian system, Kenobi.”

The answer takes a few seconds that tick by in slow reminiscence of the power he had felt, of the righteousness, the utter, bone-deep calling to destroy a star system. He had felt that his father would have been proud of him for once. Maybe. That is clearly something to rectify now.

_“You regret that you have done it. That puts you firmly outside evil territory.”_

“It was a strategically sound decision at that point,” Hux murmurs into the heavy silence of the empty room, accepting with a little huff how much like an admission of guilt it sounds. A deep breath later it’s gone. “We all make those, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan Kenobi mutters with his eyes fixed on something beyond the visible. “We do. But if you forsake emotional attachments, Hux. What strategy do you propose?”

The _Finalizer_ should now be half-way through its second cycle. Hux, as a night worker preferred two and three over the early cycle and Reina had aligned her hours with his long ago.

She would be awake.

  
  


“Reina.” The smile Hux attempts dies gently on the spikes her scowl erects between them.

“You did this as a boy, too. Hid away and plotted a strategy to get out of the punishment.” She doesn’t smile, but in her eyes, the painful barbs fade until the softness shimmers through once more.

Before all this, the thought to see his father’s actions with anything but admiration would have been unfathomable. Now only curious indifference remains. A knowing, deep inside his bones, that borders on acceptance of a truth that still hurts, but no longer has the capacity to wound.  

“What else was I supposed to do? Preparation is key to survival.”

“I just wished…” Her eyes dart away from his face, lock on something over his shoulder that hasn’t been there for a long time. She searches for words and settles for “No child should have to do that.”

It’s not an apology. She knows Hux wouldn’t accept one. That he even allows this much must be in her eyes a miracle. And maybe he seems as foreign to her as he seems to himself in some moments, desperately tempted to hurry back to the safe ground cold sterility promises.

“It made me what I am. And who I am saved Ren. It might yet save this Galaxy.” This smile comes easy. “I can go up against Snoke because I know I have seen worse than this.”

“And it warped you.”

“That it did. But it’s over.” Hux dares draw a deep breath. “It’s finally over.”

“Oh, Bren.. if I…”

“Stop.” He bites out and the woman who is so much more than his secretary falls silent at once. She has no talent for leadership, never did. She is the perfect second, the one in the shadows that makes things happen, but she has always shunned spotlight and confrontation. If Hux insists, she will send her children to the Resistance and go on serving him, maybe with less conviction, but no less dedication because that is who she is.

“I want you to listen to me, Reina. And I want you to know that I mean exactly what I say. Understood?” Hux waits for her nod before he goes on, ignoring her bewildered, slightly apprehensive expression.

“It was not fair of me to make these plans without your knowledge, but my decision stands and so do my reasons. I want Senya and Fabian out of the way and somewhere considerably safe. Yet, I still need someone to help plant these information. Senya is more than qualified and I think she will thrive in those surroundings. But…” Hux raises a hand and cuts Reina off when she attempts to speak. “... they’re the only family you have left here and it is not fair to separate you.”

A little voice in the back of his thoughts yells at Hux to slow down, to not overpower her, but a far bigger majority screams for him to get over with, to rip the cover off the wound and let it bleed freely into the rest of the brandy bottle. She will do her job, she always does, whether he tells her with velvet gloves or not.

“ I _will_ send them away. But, should you so wish, you are free to accompany them. You know all the codes, you know me and what I need.You lived outside First Order society and that gives you a certain advantage that your children don’t have.”

On the table, just on the lowest borders of the holo frame Hux’s fingers twitch over the jagged edges of a leaf, cold crystal against his skin. He wants to hold it, curl it between his fingers, play with it, but he doesn’t dare give away so obvious a clue. She can’t see his foot rocking under the table, though.

If she says yes, the hole she leaves will be outwardly subtle, an empty desk as the entrance to his commander’s office, scheduling through his automated calendar. Messages left on his com, unprioritized. His men and women will barely notice. And to Snoke, Reina is so insignificant that the Supreme Leader  doesn’t even know she exists.

Beyond that… Hux looks at her face, washed out in color by the holo screen. Her greying hair pulled back tightly, accentuating her big eyes in a very subtle way that makes her look younger. She wears no lenses to hide her iris now, out of the public eye when Hux is gone. Wrinkles fan out across her cheeks, not deep but significant. Hux watched her age over the years as he grew. He likely put one or two of those lines there with his persistent refusal to acknowledge her, the woman that had been the one staple in his life, beyond his childish reverence for his mother, elevating her far above the mortal woman she had been and the irrational fear of love and loss that his father had ingrained in him. But maybe he also prevented a few  worry lines with the way he had helped her family along, especially after the death of her husband.

No longer having Reina means no subtle moral support at his back, shuffling appointments to free him, no reports prepared, no smiles. No fine shimmer of warmth on somehow everything around him, from a holo picture of flowers on his desk to a cup of tea late in the night when he sits and works because no day had enough hours. No carefully tilted head as she watches him trying to figure out his moves, as she had done so often since his childhood. As she is doing now.

“You need me, too, Bren.” His name rolls off her tongue with a hint of a melodic accent. The reminder how well she knows him a flashing warning sign for the damage she could inflict. But Reina, among all the people in the Galaxy, is the one he actually trusts not to do that him.

“Yes,” he admits “more than you perhaps know. But, surprisingly, not everything is about me. I know the playing field. I operate on familiar territory and while I will… “ ‘regret your departure’ sounds too callous, ‘value your input’ too cold . “... miss you. I am old enough to not need a nanny anymore.”

Her lower lip quivers, visible even through the holo. And the moisture that is collecting in her eyes couldn’t be missed, even by an emotionally stunted child like him. Sentimentality…  the great bane of existence. In the end, she smiles.

And Hux understands the critical miscalculation he made.

“You are…” Words fail her and fray out in a sharp shake of her head. “You know that I will say yes, don’t you? I can’t just deport them and … I can’t.”

“Phasma will work with you to stage a plausible disappearance. Isn’t Senya’s birthday coming up?” Ice settles over his voice, a fine sheen that cracks his words where they don’t freeze to the last sound. “You should maybe set up a family meeting. That would make it easier for the Captain. I will also transfer a set of encrypted codes to your secret account.”

“I’m sorry, Bren.” She cries openly now. “ They’re my children.” Hux should probably feel something, but that he’d need Ren for.

“And I am not. I understand, Reina.”

“That is not what I…. Bren!”

In the cold darkness the ‘off’ button leaves behind, Hux’s heart beats unnaturally loud, the low tap tap tap of his foot the war drum for the rush of blood in his ears. At the end of the day… he had not expected that. He had trusted her commitment, her emotional connection too much and left himself wilfully blind to the truth.

 

For one moment, he thinks his legs won’t hold when he stands and walks to the sofa. The bottle and the tumbler hang limply from his hands, following wherever he goes like particularly loyal pets. Before him, the smooth surface of the leather seem in equal parts inviting and dangerous. So he sits. Ren likes to sprawl there with his long legs falling carelessly to the floor.  He does that well. Relaxing.

Hux leans back, the tumbler resting against his stomach, his left stretched along the back of the sofa. He has no feeling for it, but he can, if he must, emulate Ren.

Closing his eyes is a relief; his sleeping patterns have become more erratic the longer this has been going. Kylo, Ren, he gently corrects himself, sleeps more than his share, grabbing every minute of rest he can get. He needs it.

But Hux’ dreams are steeped in blood red and it flows down behind his eyelids, splattered everywhere by a burning hot wind as he executes a few billion. “I just wished…”

The brandy burns in his throat, the glass falling onto the couch like a forgotten relic, tossed by a child that lost interest.

“There is no coming back from things like Hosnian.”

_“No, there isn’t.”_ Alderaan, Hux remembers. The Jedi. All the Jedi. Yet Kenobi has Skywalker by his side.

He turns his head and looks, searching for that pale blue figure in a robe that is so much more than a shade, more than an incorporeal voice that might just as well be a figment of his imagination.

_“There can only be going forward, Hux. And killing Snoke will be a good start. I’m not saying you had no choice. You didn’t see it and pushed a button with cold calculation.”_ Warmth spreads over Hux's right shoulder, as it sometimes happens. He has long since unlearned the startled response. It’s accompanied by a sense of peace, of calm that is not actually something he connects with an enemy of the empire. 

_“When you saw that there was a choice to be had, later, you made a different decision. And in the long run, this might save another few billion who would die if you chose the easy way out.”_

“I’ve never chosen the easy way.”

_“I know, I’m just saying, Hux.”_

“Go to hell, Kenobi. And take Skywalker with you.”

_“Go to bed, General.”_

No response will be forthcoming from Hux; he is far too well-bred to say what he is thinking.

He does, instead, what he has been told and leaves the bottle behind, laying forgotten on the sofa, and crawls into bed.

He pushes away the blanket Ren has wrapped himself around and takes its place, welcomed with a dream-laden smile and a soft sigh that exists solely for him. “Missed you,” Ren murmurs and squashes Hux’s panic before it can rise.

It’s then, as the overgrown adolescent octopus throws a leg over his hip and curls a pair of far too long arms around his shoulder, that Hux understands he can’t choose the easy option.

No matter if he hears children scream in his dreams, the children are dead already. Sneaking his way out of this existence would accomplish nothing but breaking Ren, too.

He buries his nose in his lover’s chest, smells his warm, peculiar scent and contents himself with what little peace he has.

 

***  


 

They file in one by one into their commander's room. Dax and Bantha still in their armors, fresh from watch. Only Bunny and 1120 are missing, already in the know, already on his side.

In all honesty, Flipside hadn’t expected any different. Lev had been his friend since training; two boys with wildly unfitting personalities, one prone to sneaking onto the observation deck at night because he needed desperately to not be in company for a while, the other held awake by dreams that were too vivid and real and a crippling fear for a sister he had sworn to protect.

They had bonded over their ability to out silence each other and their inherent conviction to keep a secret.

And Bunny… There was a time when Flipside had not been Flipside and Bunny had not been Bunny and deep down she had always known. She would follow Flipside into every mess without asking questions. Her weird infatuation with Kylo Ren only adds to her willingness.

_‘Oh, Flip, he’s my friend. You don’t know him,’_ she had told him earlier and laughed before she had tried to hug away his worry. _‘He’s absolutely not like you think.’_

_She’s right, you know?_ The warmth in the voice brushing over Flip’s mind doesn’t hide the disgruntled subtone reverberating through it.

_I don’t know,_ Flip thinks with intent, _and that’s the problem!_

_You will, trust me, you will._

The last time Flip had trusted the ominous voice, he had marched into Hux’s rooms and it had led to this.

Six people that look at him with apprehension. They all have noted the pistol that lies within easy reach of his right hand.

There is not one Trooper in his unit who hadn't whispered late at night about all the things they have seen in the past few weeks and shouldn't have. In the years of their service each of these people has heard the lies that are so easily spun about the import of the individual, of the impact each of them has, foundations of the First Order and all that kriff. Believing those lies brought each trooper through their first year, not believing them brings them through the rest of their lives until their untimely death.

As Flipside now looks into their faces, four men and two women, he sees suspicion but no fear. He couldn't be prouder.

"When I chose each of you for this unit, washouts, disciplinary problems, damaged goods, the whole lot of you, I promised you one thing: a chance to be yourselves, because all of you had failed in one way or another to be the someone you were supposed to be."

That elicits a low chuckle from Beta who had beaten up her previous unit commander when he came too close. Among all of them, she is the most dangerous, her restraints that hold violence and anger in check long ignored. "Even you," Flip adds in her direction and draws laughter from the others.

"I do not need to tell any of you the predicament of our situation.  By now we all are aware that Hux sleeps with Kylo Ren. "

"Are we sure about that?" The question comes from Dax, whose only character flaw is a disability to not be humorous.

"For real?"  Flip tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. A gentle warning of annoyance that normally is enough to deter the man. But today Dax's nervousness drives him like a fine electric current in his veins, a restless push that scratches at Flip's own calm like fingernails over coated steel.

"Yes, I mean they could be playing Sabbac, for all we-"

"Enough, Dax." Flip threads a little iron into his voice and it's enough.  It usually is. "We all are aware of our precarious situation."

He draws a deep breath, expands his lungs.

"Today I went to confront the General about it."

“What?!" "Why?" "Are you insane?"

 

"Silence!" Beta roars and silence settles. She not only has a propensity for violence,  she also has a violent personality.  One that serves her well with the ragtag bunch of Flip's unit. Whereas he trusts 1120 more as a person, he trusts her as a leader. Although she is the one most likely to incite a riot.

"Go on, balls-of-steel," She deadpans now, her ice cold eyes fixed on his face and a sneer on her lips.

"As I said, I went to confront the General and make a decision.  I made a decision."

The silence settles deeper, broken by a soft, restless scratch of armor plates on armor plates as Bantha crosses his arms.

"Snoke captured Ren and tried to break him. And while he is indeed the Supreme Leader, doubt lingers heavily that he has anyone's best interest at heart. Least of all ours. If he is willing to break Ren like that... What are we? We are nothing now and to him, we'd be even less."

"And you think we would be to Hux? Is that why you have a blaster at the ready?" Beta's words draw forth slow nods and silent murmurs from the others. Not everyone,  Flip finds as he scans their faces, but out of the six remaining members of his unit four have inched closer to her.

She may think him helpless against numbers like that, she might be right. Not even he can go up against four armed opponents, two of which wear armor, and expect an easy win. The other two might help, or they might not, but at the end of the day this will be Flipside’s fight.  

 

Outside Lev and Bunny are waiting,  with Bunny on the lookout for outside foes and Lev’s rifle pointed at the facility’s entrance. Convincing them to leave Flip alone in a room with six people who potentially violently disagreed had been the most difficult. They know him the longest and the best and they know all the things the others don’t. When Flip tells them ‘trust me’ they hear ‘I know more’ and believe it. That doesn’t mean they like it.

"Hux," he smiles and scans the faces in front of him, " at least was honest.  Does he value us as people? No. But he values us as an asset, as a trustworthy unit under his command."  Beta's eyes shift almost imperceptibly to the left, not an admission,  not insecurity,  but important nonetheless.  The memory comes unbidden,  Beta standing in the training facility without armor and opposite her a woman half a head taller, blond hair cropped short around a milk-white face. They had been smiling.

"And what's more:” he goes on, intent to play this trump card when it has the most impact. Now, or the words will never have the same value again. “He values Phasma. She is his closest ally and Phasma values us."

Flip locks eyes with Beta, everybody else forgotten.  "And we value the Captain."

While her eyes don't soften, something in them shifts as her lashes shade the pupil and the ghost of a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

"I swore my loyalty to you when I pulled you into this unit. Which is why I cannot just order you to follow me into what, for now, amounts to treason. That may, so whatever forces guide us, change one day and we might, just might change our future.” Their eyes rest on Flip with rapt attention, now that he has reigned Beta in. He knows that they are loyal to him nonetheless, loyal to what he promises them, but that will only get him so far if he cannot instill in them the will to fight from their own volition. “You are in this unit, because each of you is more than just a cog in the big machine, yet clever enough to not fuck it up by getting caught. We will need that. So I offer you this and I ask for your decision.  If you say no, there will be an out for you. If you decide to support Snoke... You will have to go through me."  Flip snorts. "Sorry. That ain't happening."

Dax, predictably,  laughs.

  
  


Bunny sees him first. She pushes away from the tree she was leaning against and comes tearing across the open space in front of the main entrance straight into his arm. The plates of her armor dig painfully into Flipside’s unprotected stomach, but it's difficult to care.

She will stop being Bunny soon, become Aalya again. Taken out of the line of fire.

Will she be a hostage to ensure Flip's goodwill? Yes. But she will also be happy and she will be safe. No longer the most likely to die.

Flipside had promised that long ago, before he had become Flipside.  They had tried to condition that out of him, his name, this memory but it never had taken hold. That was the downside to their one size fits all approach,  Flip had been too big for it.

 

_‘I admire your humility,  kid, I really do, but give me a little credit,  will you?’_

Flip laughs _‘When it's due, Anakin, I will.’_

He knows that he will have to let his sister go, but not quite yet. Not yet.


End file.
